To Chance Upon a Spanish Pearl 01
by Nals
Summary: Usually, a Grand Prix is a competition of the superiority of a team's own creation: a car with everything defined to the last millimeter. Every time, they tell an action story. This year though, one race tells a love story. T for suggestion and language.
1. Margarita Kallide Stevenson

_Alright, this is the filler story I wanted to do. :D Please be aware that this is not really required for reading; just something I wanted to do. 8D And besides, I fell in love with this character other than Francesco himself. xD_

_Oh, and I'd like to refer to __**MissCarrera'**__s exciting story on Lightning and Sally's first baby girl; I didn't want to do it because she started it already. xD And btw, I love the name: Vivian Jane Carrera-McQueen. ;3_

* * *

_**To Chance Upon a Spanish Pearl**_

_**Chapter One**_

_(Margo's POV)_

I stride past the large wooden doors of the Bernoulli home as I return from work. It's a pretty Wednesday, and I'm really looking forward to soaking in a hot bath. After a day in the garage, it's a pleasure.

I work in S.p.A. Ferrari, up in Maranello, Italy, as a mechanical engineer-supervisor. Initially, I am a supervisor, but I have declined the offer to stay, watch and troubleshoot alone; instead I help in the manufacturing of its road and race cars, doing manual labor as you could say, but I handle the mechanics, which means the engine, hydraulics, brakes and all that. I've had eighteen months of experience and I'm proud to say I know my way around Ferrari. Once, I have been granted the opportunity to try my skills on the 2013 F1 season, and it was, by far, my greatest achievement, even if it was just primary engine touch-ups and design.

This year, as part of my promotion, someone insisted I receive a beautiful new 458 Italia of my choice of color and plate number. Instantly I chose silver, in memory of my old Audi A7 that had, unfortunately, crashed because of some idiot driving drunk. I sued the man for repairs, but when the damage had been too bad to repair, I sued him for what that car was worth. I chose the number MK 252 SMC, although I never really understood why I chose 'MC' at the end, but the three letters stood for 'Margarita Kallide-Stevenson', the numbers in the date of my birthday, February 25th. The original plate number my A7 used is 252 MKS, standing for the same thing. And so, I received my new, beautiful 458 Italia back in June, when I reached my year mark in the service of Ferrari. Even my uncle, a prestigious F1 driver, was amazed by its close-to-Formula-One handling and characteristics. I love that car, and it loves me back.

Sometimes I like to think my 458 as a better alternative than a boyfriend. That car, which I consider a male rather than a female by its looks and superior strength and interior, can't possibly cheat on me, or try something stupid like bungee jumping, or break my heart. But still, there's nothing better than to press your lips against skin rather than metalline, or having that warm feeling in your heart and that fuzzy feeling in your head when someone holds you close.

Have I mentioned that I don't believe in wishes anymore? I keep on wishing for love to come true, but I just can't seem to find it. Wishing for years has made me give up, and I just can't make myself wish anymore. Well, wishes don't really come true in any case, but trying to find an opportunity has, by far, better odds than wishing.

It's six in an autumn/October evening, and my uncle should have had dinner prepared by now. But I don't see him cooking, or smell the gently wafting scents of yummy food coming from the kitchen. In fact, when I ask Giacomo where they are, they're in their room, talking.

At least, that's what Giacomo _thinks_ they're doing. Even before I near the door by three feet I hear the squeaking of bedsprings and gasps emanating from the large master bedroom. I nearly shriek in my horror and/or faint, but I just back away to where the old butler waits by the staircase.

"Well," I start, "they most certainly are busy." My shoulders slump. "Why do they do this everyday?"

His wise words startle me. "It's love, _signorina._" He shrugs like it's nothing. "But I didn't want to scare you like that."

I nod unconsciously as I take off my red custom Ferrari jacket. "Thanks, Giacomo," I mumble as I head for the baby room.

I peek in to see little baby Gianfranco playing with his cars. The little one-year-old looks at me curiously, then reaches for his auntie, smiling happily. I smile back, entering to hug him.

"How're you, baby?" I croon, and he only laughs as I press my nose to his. I laugh with him, problems forgotten. "Now, you go back to playing, alright? Mama will be by when she wakes," I add as I glance at the clock. He has to be fed or Marlene and Francesco will never hear the end of it.

I set the baby boy down back into his crib, and he waves bye-bye as I go. I then retreat to my room after dismissing Giacomo,telling him I'll be soaking. I throw my jacket onto the bed—I can still use that tomorrow—and open my drawers in search of clothing before I head into the bathroom.

Did I mention I'm still living with my cousin? They decided it would be nice for me to stay—it's just them, Giacomo and baby Gianfranco, really—with the four of them in the large house. At least it's more of a house than a palace; you should see the original home of Grandmama Bernoulli, it's huge!

I fill the ceramic tub with water, pour a little scented bath soap in and strip my clothing before I lie in the warm water. I close my eyes, permitting skin up to under my ears and nose to soak below the surface. I grant myself at least ten minutes of soaking before I get out, because I can feel my skin wrinkling again. I wash the soap out of my pores and shampoo my hair after draining the tub; I'm not used to a bath so I don't really know how. I get out, blotting my hair dry with a towel, in jeans and a sports shirt. I toss the towel onto the rack in the bath, and comb my hair, tying it up again with the black band I keep using for five years straight. I head downstairs to see my uncle cooking again.

"Hiya Uncle," I greet as I kiss his cheek. "Where's my cousin?" I ask as I go get some water.

"She's upstairs with Gianfranco," he replies in his usual Italian accent, flipping some sauté he's doing, jerking his arm. I find it sexy, but how can I think that about my cousin's hubby?

I nod slowly, even if he doesn't see me. "Anything I can do?" I blurt. I don't really like feeling useless around the home; I usually like doing odd jobs around the home.

"_Si,_" he says. "Go chop up those vegetables for me."

I leave the glass on the counter by the sink and start chopping the cabbage. "What's for dinner?" I ask, trying to make small talk.

"Sautéed vegetables," he says, and my head jerks upward.

"As in…?"

"Yup."

My face lights up in anticipation. My mama used to make sautéed vegetables back home, and it's one of my favorites to eat. Eagerly I continue with the broccoli and the green beans, and he asks me to skin the shrimp. When that's done I do the rice—rice has been one of our staple side dishes—and I go pick a leaf off the pandan plant we have outside. My mother taught me something about the leaf being able to soften and make the rice taste better. Poking a hole through the thicker end I slip the thinner side though it, and place it in the pot, even if still was with water. Happily, I wander away to my cousin when Francesco says he's almost done cooking, and I find her with Gianfranco. I decide not to bug them as I see her breastfeeding the little boy, and wander back to my room before I'm called to dinner.

We say grace—yes, we're all Roman Catholic—and eat and talk of work and news ensues.

"I almost forgot," Marlene starts. "We're invited to another Radiator Springs Grand Prix in two weeks."

My eyes widen in interest and I stop eating for a second. "Who's invited?"

"Everyone from the World Grand Prix," Marlene says. "It's a private race, and only intimate friends and family are allowed to go. No press, no trophy, I guess." She takes another spoonful. "Again, honey, your rice is impeccable," she comments, turning to Francesco.

"Actually, Margo did that," he corrects casually, and Marlene stares at me.

"I…do that back home," I say sheepishly.

She only nods as she takes another bite. "It's soft and it's good."

I grin proudly. "So, are we going?"

It's Francesco's turn to smile. "I wouldn't miss it," he says.

"What will you tell Giuseppe?" Marlene tells him.

"I'll tell him we're invited. I mean, he wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to meet old friends, right?"

She nodded. "Seems legit," she murmured.

"Can I come?" I blurt out.

"Why should we leave you?" Francesco says. "We're bringing Gianfranco along, too, aren't we?"

"Of course," Marlene retorts. "I wouldn't leave my only son alone."

"What about the house?"

"Giacomo will handle it nicely."

"And are we bringing our cars?"

"Well, we're bringing your 458, that's for sure," Francesco says. "That 2012 F1 of mine is illegal to drive around the roads, you know."

I brighten. That's what I've been looking for. I've wanted to show it off to Tia and Mia. Oh, how jealous would they be when I tell them I earned my 458 myself?

I think about who's going. I've had a few friends from Marlene's birthday and wedding and Francesco's other parties, and I can't wait to see Rip Clutchgoneski again or Jeff Gorvette and Lewis Hamilton. All three drivers drive me through the roof in laughter, and excitement courses through me as I remember Gianfranco's godparents Lightning McQueen and his wife, Sally, along with their bouncing baby girl Vivian Jane, barely two months younger than Gianfranco.


	2. Finding My Love Again

_Aw, __**Pancake**__, you're never wrong~ xD Happy Easter to you too! ^-^ 3 But I read __**MissCarrera**__'s version, and __**Mere **__asked me to do some story on that, so yeah, I guess. :) This A/N will be subject to change due to complications. :) Thanks, **babyinuyasha**; glad you like it!_

_ And, as you readers might have noticed, I have added a new character to the characters' list under the summary. xD Please do note that, and the new summary._

* * *

_**Chapter Two**_

I follow the Bernoulli car, a beautiful dark silver Ferrari California, which has probably replaced Marlene's R8, with my own 458 Italia. The two have actually forbidden me to get in there with them, which is probably why Francesco let me take my 458 with me. Right in front of the car-you read right, _front_-are my things-personal stuff, clothes, a few notebooks, my laptop-since the California's trunk and rear seats are stuffed.

At least the company let me take a two-week vacation. "You deserve it," they said, "because you work overtime, and work on both the plant and the cars, so why not?" I was overjoyed, because I thought they wouldn't let me go.

As we take the road off the Interstate, we hit the gas until we see someone there in front, and slow. Excitement makes us pass them, and we continue with adrenaline in my veins. At least my 458 is purring, as happy as he should be. They don't drop the folding hard top though, and I know it's because of the baby. But I know Francesco's itching to do so; either that or he's saving it for later.

Within minutes we reach Radiator Springs. It's late afternoon, and most of the people have either returned home after touring the great Radiator Springs or resting. Sally's neon says there's no vacancy, and, after a shiver of uneasiness, I realize it's for the drivers of the nicknamed RSGP. I see a few trailers and trucks around, and with the colors of the flags and designs of the cars I grin: some racers have arrived already. Excitement surges through my skin, making it tingle, as I see a familiar flag. I want to get out of this black leather seat and embrace the good friend I met nearly two years ago. He's currently walking towards my car, wondering who's behind the window's dark tint of the sexy silver 458. I park to the side as manners would imply, and drop my window.

"Hey," I call, and he grins as he lowers himself so he can see me.

"Nice ride," he greets.

"When did you get here?" I ask.

"Just a few hours ago," he replies. "Where did you get this?" he shoots back happily.

"Like him?" I ask, revving the engine slightly. "Promotional gift thing," I say bluntly. "What're you guys doing?"

"Just drinking, as usual."

A honk of the California's horn and I know they're impatient. "Whoop, gotta go," I say.

"I'll meet you there," he replies, and I race away to the garages.

It's bright and spacious, really, and I'm amazed it's here. It looks like a repair garage though, because I see lifters and controls all around, with toolboxes and hoses scattered along the walls. I park, cut the engine and get out. That's when I hear an unfamiliar clunk in the back. Looks like driving for two days has taken its toll on him.

I make a mental note to just do it tomorrow or some other time, and I search my things in the spacious trunk up front, because I'm shivering slightly in my plain white t-shirt. I hadn't noticed it was cold under the influence of the AC of my 458. I struggle to find a decent sweater, and as I find a red one under the light of the car I slip it over my shirt. A wolf whistle hits my hearing, and I turn to see him there. I grin sheepishly, close my bag and shut the cover, locking my car into place.

When I glance back up at him, I stop. I notice the green, red and orange sweater he's wearing, along with almost the same black jeans I've got. It's like Sally's neon, it's eye-catching, and he, inexplicably, looks good in it. His hair is windblown and fluffed up, like he'd just ran his fingers through it, front to back. I flush, and he walks towards me.

"Trunk in the front?" he asks, admiring the front end.

"Yeah," I say. "Big enough to fit you in," I add playfully, and nudge him.

He gives a laugh and turns to me. "Big enough to smuggle me back to Italy?" he murmurs into my ear, his arm slipping on my waist.

"Yeah," I whisper back, turning to rest my hands onto his pullover. I gaze up into alluring green and he bends his head down to kiss me.

I hadn't realized I've been flirting, really. I'm not usually like that. And right now I think it's the peak of the situation. My hands slip over and under his collar, sliding onto skin, and both his arms are around my waist, holding me close.

I can feel his warm breath over my face that smells like Coke, and I can feel the tension in his lips, like he was holding back. I'm lost in a wonder of emotions, and my head clouds up just enough not to notice the footsteps right beside my 458.

"Hey," someone calls, and we jerk away. We're both flushing a deep red, and glance over to a familiar face. Jeff Gorvette.

"Don't you guys think it's a little early for that?" he asks, sipping a hot mug.

I can tell the man beside me is furious, but I slap the back of my hand gently to his belly to quiet the locked jaw. There's nothing to say; we've been caught red-handed-or is it red-faced?

Jeff only laughs at the embarrassment we feel and stalks away. "Oh, and Margo," he says over his shoulder, "your cousin is looking for you over at Flo's." I blink, still dazed. "She'll be furious when she knows what you've been doing," he adds, smirking.

It takes me a few seconds to realize he's going to bust me. "No!" I cry out immediately. "You can't do that!"

"Did I say anything about busting you?" he laughs, and walks away.

I slap my palm over my face, and his arms embrace me quietly.

"We better go," I say, looking up at him.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," he replies, smiling, and I'm on my toes to peck his cheek.

We're now at Flo's V8 Café, drinking soft drinks, only because the rest of them want to stay sober for the rest of the night and maybe because the supply of beer hasn't arrived yet. Either way, everyone's hyper and happy, all laughing at jokes and situations. The wives are out of the question, tending to their children and possibly talking amongst themselves, so that makes me the only girl only drivers there are Jeff Gorvette, Lewis Hamilton, Rip Clutchgoneski, Max Schnell, Francesco Bernoulli, Lightning McQueen and Nigel Gearsley. The rest haven't arrived yet, so that makes the list down to four more drivers to come: Carla Veloso, Shu Todoroki, Raoul ÇaRoule, and Miguel Camino.

Everyone's seated in a big round booth in the corner, all wearing signature jackets and sweaters, except for me, really. I'm seated right near the end of the leather couch, laughing with a can of Pepsi in my hand.

"So, what's the scoop back in Italy?" someone asks me.

"Still quiet, you pervs," I say, even if something did happen back home. They laugh, pointing to Francesco and nudging him, because they know I'll never really reveal what's going in the master's bedroom. I laugh with them, also hyper and happy.

"Lewis," I call out, "Marlene should be asking about Cosette. What should I tell?"

"God," he says, smiling as his head tips back. "Don't tell her anything," he says. "She'll understand."

I grin, and everyone howls.

"Congrats, amigo!" Lightning calls, and the rest of them follow.

Murmurs between pairs and trios leave me sipping my Pepsi alone, and when no one's looking, I move an inch to the side. When I finish the last of my Pepsi is when Jeff calls my attention.

"Why sit so close to Rip?" he asks, and everyone notices just how close I am to the wearer of the green, red and orange flag, sitting on my left. "You aren't close or anything?"

I flinch. That's just mean. I don't know what to say. Glancing up at Rip would cause an even greater uproar. Right now everyone's just plain interested, but as precious seconds tick by the men start forming conclusions.

"It's cold," I say evasively, remembering the party three years ago, and I fidget uncomfortably.

I'm trying to calm and negate their conclusions here, but they are just confirmed when his arm, resting on the backrest behind me, comes down on my side. The men howl and I flush, hiding my face. This is _not_ good.

"I thought you didn't have a girlfriend?" Max Schnell asked the youngest driver.

"I didn't," Rip replied flatly. "Not when you asked."

Francesco looks at me, amused. The rest of them voices their approval and congratulations. My face appears from my hands. What's going on?

My face says it all, though. "We're not your usual kind of men, Margo," Jeff says. "We're happy whenever our friends are happy. We're not juveniles."

I only nod, relaxing, and my right hand takes his which has settled on my thigh. I sigh, relieved, my head leaning on his shoulder. It's only then when I realize I'm so exhausted. My eyelids droop, and my senses blur.

"Looks like someone's exhausted," Lightning calls, and I raise my head. Everyone's looking at me as I wonder what has happened.

"You better take her home, Rip," Francesco says. "She'll be out before she knows it."

I don't hear or see how he responds, but he helps me up with little encouragement. I stagger to my feet, sleepy, and he steadies me as we walk out of the café to my designated cone.

"Wait," I say through the fuzziness in my head. "What about my stuff?"

"You can get to them tomorrow," he murmurs.

In the lobby we find a key with my name on it and the number of the room, and head upstairs to have me settled down. Instantly I head for the large queen-sized bed, and as the lights are doused I instantly feel fear creep along my skin. I'm such a scaredy-cat in the dark.

"Stay," I call softly. I can't see him; my eyes haven't adjusted from the bright lights earlier. But I feel his hand on my face and pressure pushing the edged of the bed down. I push myself to the middle, pulling his arm as I settle. Uneasily he climbs in with me onto the covers, and when I've felt he's lying down, I snuggle up to his side, my face in the warm wool. I can smell the soft scent of the air freshener back at Flo's, and underneath is what I thought to be cinnamon-sweet and tangy. I feel his arms around me, and he's on his side, holding me. My head wants to sleep, but I don't want to.

My hand searches along the clothing until I hit his neck, to his face, and I tilt my head back so I can meet his. He's startled, but I don't give in. I pull myself up slightly, and his arms tighten around me. I gasp in ecstasy as he pulls me upwards, rolling himself onto his back. I don't want him to stop. I don't want him to leave. My left hand's fingers lace in his dark brown hair, my other hand on his shoulder, gripping his sweater like crazy. His breath is warm like the sun and sweet like Coke, and it only adds to the intoxication of my senses. I gasp his name mindlessly, and he flips us over, his hands on either side of my head, flat onto the bed. My arms are around his neck, hands under his collar, and I'm distracted by something trickling slowly down my eye. It's his turn to call my name, and it's my turn to flip us over.

I'm breathless. I'm exhausted. I want to go to bed. But not without him. "Stay," I whisper again. My head is on his shoulder, my left hand on his chest, feeling its rise and fall as he gasps for air. I notice just how strong his muscles feel under all that clothing. His hand is on my head gently, and he twists his head to kiss my forehead.

"Always," he replies softly, and under that word I black out.

* * *

_Yuss sexy chapter with Rip CLutchgoneski. 8D I love it; it's pulling in very nicely. Beware though, there's no fluffiness yet! _


	3. Torn

_You shall know, my dear __**Pancake3298**__. :) In Chapter Four, you shall know._

_**Warning:**__ Chapter and succeeding chapters could be a little long. Cx_

* * *

_**Chapter Three**_

_(Margo's POV)_

I wake to find myself in an odd room of soft orange rather than cream. I almost panic, but when I see what's beside me, relief and ecstasy flood through me.

He looks peaceful as he sleeps. He twitches here and there, eyes moving under his lids, and I chuckle slightly. He's dreaming.

I glance at the clock. It's around eight-forty-five in the morning. Marlene will kill me for waking late.

Lightly, I press my lips against his, and he jerks awake, only to smile up at me as his eyes meet mine.

"Good morning," I whisper, and he grins.

"Good morning," he replies just as softly, and cranes his neck to kiss me again, turning me over onto my back.

I push him off as soon as my mind is set straight. "Maybe later," I mumble through the daze he's put me in, and he laughs as we sit up on the edge of the bed. My face is in my hands as I breathe. I swear I could still smell the sweet scent of his hair through my hands, until I realize my hands _have_ been in his hair in the last ten minutes.

His arm is around me, and gently asks what's wrong. I look up incredulously to beautiful green eyes, full of love and alarm.

"What's wrong!" I repeat in disbelief. My arms latch around his neck, my hands in his mussed-up hair, and I'm suddenly on his lap. "What's wrong," I growl between kisses, "is that I love you so damned much…." I didn't finish as his lips are over mine.

We're lying on the bed once more, and I'm just fiddling mindlessly the pale yellow collar that's peeking out of his knit sweater. His fingers then lace through mine, and I gaze into happy pale green eyes. He smiles, and I press my nose to his jaw for a moment, closing my eyes as I focus on momentarily intoxicating my senses. I then leap out of bed before he tries something else.

I glance again at the clock. Nine-fifteen in the morning. We've been kissing for thirty minutes. Now the rest of the crowd would know what we've been doing.

I run my fingers through my hair to find it's loose. I panic and look for it under the covers, only to find him dangling it over his finger. I snatch it back, and begin to tie up my hair, but his hand stops me. I look at him to see what's wrong.

"Don't," he says. "I want your hair down today."

I shake my head, glancing out the window. "Can't you see it's windy outside?" I say. I am not one to wear my hair down, especially in a windy day like this.

He looks outside, and releases my wrist. I find a complimentary brush in one of the drawers of the dresser, and brush my hair in the mirror. When I'm satisfied with my hairdo I wash my face and do my duty. As he is in the bath I take into account what's in my pockets. Handkerchief, key to the car, key to the room, pocket money, watch. My ring-a connection of heart outlines with paw prints in them, given by my parents-is still on my middle finger. My mother had refused to give me a ring to wear on my ring finger; she says it would signify that I'm either engaged or married, which is untrue. When the door to the bath unlocks and he steps out, I stand, and together we leave the room, locking the door, the key to it in the keyring of my car's.

"What do we do first?" I ask him.

"I dunno; get breakfast, maybe," he says, fingers between mine.

"What should we say to them?"

He understands my alarm. We've slept together, after all, last night, and people will think we've done something _really_ stupid. "We tell them nothing. Just say we woke up at the same time."

I relax. "Alright," I murmur as he presses his lips to my brown bangs.

As we leave the motel we are hit by sunlight, and I find more trucks and trailers parked between Mater's and the Cozy Cone. I tug his sleeve towards the garage, and we head there first. He wonders why.

"Don't you see we're in the same get-up as last night?" I say, opening the trunk of my 458. I pull off my sweater, toss it on one of my bags, and search for a collared shirt. I look for a door with the sign I'm expecting, and there it is in the corner. I enter in a white tee and leave in a pale yellow button-up. I bundle my shirt into one of my bags, and pick a new sweater, this time an orange one, shoving last night's into the bag. I slip it over my head, arranging the collar so it shows. He grins. I wondered why.

"We match," he says, and he tugs at his collar. I roll my eyes.

I close the trunk and I hear a satisfying 'click'. We walk out, hand in hand, and towards Flo's for breakfast.

What we find there are eight racers and two other women. Casually Rip leads me to the booth in the corner, where our friends are seated, and find space for us to enjoy breakfast with the rest of them.

"Sooo," Marlene croons slightly at me, then her voice hardens, "why are you late?"

"I was up late," I say, ordering a cup of coffee.

"And why are you with Rip Clutchgoneski?" Francesco shoots to humor his wife.

"Because we woke at the same time," I shoot back as I sip my coffee, warming my hands on the warm ceramics. I don't meet the racers' eyes as I speak. "Found him walking down the hall. Wanted some company."

Why the Bernoulli's are accusing me is because I'm kind of their adopted charge. I've been living with them for a few years, for crying out loud, and I'm younger than them. It's little wonder they're kind of protective of me, just like my parents.

"Really?" Jeff says. I look up to narrow my eyes at him for a moment, daggers in my gaze. He drops his own eyes, and sits quietly.

Too bad Lewis didn't get it. "Tell us why you were sitting close to him last night," he says.

I swear I could punch that man in the face right now. My arms tremble slightly, and Rip, who has ordered a small stack of pancakes, touches his arm to mine slightly. My gaze meets his, and he gives a shake of his head. I eye the black coffee in my hands again.

"So something has happened!" Marlene shrieks, causing me to start.

I sigh, eyes rolling back into my head. I now have to tell the truth. "So something has happened between us, end of story." I flush as I admit it.

"What happened?" Sally asks, sipping a warm mug of coffee. Her tone is casual and curious, not accusing. "I mean, what…caused…this?" She gestured with her hand, and I know it's the closeness of us.

I nudge him slightly, and he nudges me back. I roll my eyes. Rip has never been dominant with me. At least, not in public.

I tell them anyway. "If you all remember, we had a party, back when Francesco proposed to Marlene in 2012." Everyone murmurs agreement before I continue. "Well, I found him, lonely, and it sort of started there. In the rest of Francesco's parties, he was invited, and we just talked, exchanged numbers and e-mail addresses."

I continue, at ease with it now. "We talked often, and he sort of invited himself to Italy for a few weeks." I glance up at Marlene and Francesco. "You both remember when I come home late, like, nine in the evening?" I ask. When they nod, I say, "That's when I'm having dinner with him. When he had to go back home, we started talking over the Internet again." As they look at me in horror, I say, "I'll have you know things hadn't really started until last night."

"What _did_ you do last night?" Marlene asks, a horrified look on her face.

I nudge Rip as I sip my coffee for the first time in five minutes. As he looks at me I glance at our audience, and he sighs.

"Just one kiss," he says after a moment of recall. "That's it."

"Wow, _mon ami_," French driver Raoul ÇaRoule says. "You can actually admit that to us?"

"It's what you asked, isn't it?" Rip shoots back, frustrated, and my hand drops to his elbow gently, my eyes on my coffee.

"Anything that happened after that?" Lightning asks. My eyes follow his gaze and sees Rip's ruffled collar.

"Nope," I say. "I'm still a virgin," I add flat-out, and Marlene stiffens. She's not one for the sex talk.

"Sorry I'm late," a voice says, and unfortunately, my back is to the hallway. I turn to see a man in colors of red, black and gold, his hair ruffled by the wind outside, and as I scrutinize him, he's got these deep green eyes I've never seen before. Compared to Rip, who, to me, is sweet and romantic, this man is sexy and alluring, and I can't help that sweet, 'I'm-falling-head-over-heels-because-he's-hot' feeling that's creeping up on my tailbone.

I don't know if I'm hooked or not, but still, I don't know this man. I feel more comfortable with Rip, whose presence was, at first, friendly and submissive. But this guy has some sort of authoritative aura, and it only ads to the sensuality.

I blink, and he's looking at me. Quickly I turn back to the group, my hair flicking into my eyes. I recoil, shutting my eyes. I wave away Rip's affectionate hand, and continue to drink.

"Who's this?" the man asks as he sits, and I try figuring out what this guy is using his European accent.

"Miguel, meet Margarita Kallide-Stevenson, cousin of Marlene," Lewis introduces, and I smile at the man, waving slightly. No reason to be rude...yet. "Margo, this is Miguel Camino, from-"

"Pamplona, Spain," I say, cutting him off. The name has registered, and I know this man instantly. A warm feeling erupts into my cheeks and kind of has me tingling as I look into his deep green eyes as I used to do in the pictures. I have wanted to meet this guy in a long time since I read his description. "Started in the 'Running of the Bulls'. Flair, style and agility in the ring proved him to be one of the more perfect drivers," I quote, sipping my coffee, eyes flickering to the others as I finish.

"How do you know so much about him?" Carla Veloso asks.

"What?" I say, looking around consciously. Rip is furious as I see him tense. "Research. I mean, how else would I know that Carla is from Rio, is known to attend Carnavale, and what led her to her racing career was setting a new lap record in Brazil? Or, how am I supposed to know Max is an engineer like me?" I shrug as everyone looks at me in astonishment. "How else do we know things?" I add for good measure.

"I know that," Carla says, "but I'd like to know how you know so much about Miguel Camino." She pauses. "Is it a bigger interest?"

I'm suddenly defensive, and I can feel myself blushing harder. "No!" I exclaim, a little louder than I wanted it. "If that are so, I'd engage in an hour-long discussion on him."

"Care for a refill, madam?" a waitress asks, bringing a pot of coffee. I hold out the mug so she can refill it. She then turns to the newcomer. "Anything for you, sir?"

"Cup of coffee for me, please," he says, and the waitress leaves.

"So, what's the news?" Miguel asks as he receives his mug.

"Well, these two," Francesco jabs a thumb at me and Rip, "have been found guilty of being in a relationship."

The Spaniard eyes me curiously. I narrow my eyes slightly at him. He's got no business with me and Rip.

"Congrats, _amigo,_" he says to Rip. The man beside me only nods in reply as he starts on his coffee.

"What's the schedule today, McQueen?" Lewis asks Lightning to break the awkward silence. I'm grateful for that, because almost all the racers are looking at him.

"We've got a week and about two days of fun before the race," Lighting says. "What do you guys want to do?"

Suggestions are heard, and I talk to Rip for a moment.

"What do you want to do today?" I say, voice soft.

His jaw is locked. That much I can see. He's furious. That much I can tell. But he won't take it out on me until I show where my loyalties lie, I realize.

"I don't know," he says, tone equally soft. "What do you think of doing?"

"Well, my 458 needs a little tweaking before we go," I suggest. I gaze into his eyes, but all I can register in his pale green eyes is frustration and jealousy. "Rip, you know I don't know Camino as I know you," I murmur. "I know my limits."

He sighs. "It's just so frustrating-"

"-to hear a detailed description of a racer?" I continue for him. "I'm an avid racing fan, Rip." My fingers lace with his in an effort to calm him. I've never seen him this upset, and it's only morning. "It's what I know." My face presses against his shoulder. "And I know I love you," I breathe.

He looks at me, and I smile. He reluctantly returns it, and my fingers tighten against his. "I love you too," he replies softly, turning his head so his skin meets mine in a sort of kiss.

My gaze flicks upward towards the man in gold, red and black. He's looking at me with interest in those deep green eyes. I can't help feeling he likes me, but I shrug it off inwardly.

No one has ever expressed any interest in me except for Rip, and I know no one else will.


	4. Chancing Upon a Spanish Pearl

_Yes, and this is my update, __**MereMcQueen314**__, otherwise known as my favorite reviewer __**Mere**__. xD Dontcha worry my beloved __**Pancake3298**__, you're still one of my best reviewers and readers. 3_

_About time I put one of these up. xD_

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

_(Miguel's POV)_

It's flat-out nine in the morning when I arrive at Radiator Springs. Driving my favorite golden Maserati GranTurismo cabriolet, I find the garage and park. My teammates would be here in a few days; they insisted I go first. As I cut the engine, I find a stunning Ferrari California, its top down, and a glistening new 458 Italia. I feel a pang of envy, but shrug it off. My Maserati has never failed me.

I ask one of the staff of the Cozy Cone Motel where the rest of the racers are as I receive my room key, and find they're at Flo's, as usual. I smile at the thought of seeing my friends again.

Excitedly, I walk out to approach the restaurant, the wind ruffling my hair, and push open the doors. There I find, in the usual corner booth, old friends from the World Grand Prix, set about two, three years ago, and find a seat. They welcome me, as usual, and I'm happy I'm back. I don't bother flattening my hair when Carla takes the subject up.

"Anyone seen Rip?" I ask, wondering where my good friend was.

Rip Clutchgoneski, representing New Rearendia and holding the number 10 in this race, has been my friend for nearly three years, starting in the first run of the WGP. Both of us were lonely, not knowing where and what to do during out free time, and we talk as we meet. We've been good friends ever since, and I don't think there's a thing in the world that can split that friendship.

"Still asleep," Francesco says as he eats.

I nod, but he's not usually this late. I order a mug of coffee as a waitress appears, and soothe my nerves as I take a sip of the hot beverage.

"How's life, Miguel?" Lewis asks me. "Still no girlfriend?"

I laugh slightly. He's right on the dot. "None," I confirm sadly.

"When and where are you going to find someone for yourself, _amico?_" Francesco asks. "You're nearly thirty."

I nod, face serious as I lightly finger the ceramic mug on the table. My other hand is on my thigh as I sit, relaxed, my legs splayed out. "I don't know," I murmur. "I just haven't found her yet."

"Well, you better find her fast," Max said as he set down a glass of water. "You won't find anyone when you're thirty these days." I can only nod.

"Can't you find a girl in Spain?" _Señora_ Bernoulli asks.

I shake my head. "Everyone there wants '_the_ Miguel Camino'," I say, "not Miguel Camino anymore."

"I feel you, _amico_," _Señor_ Bernoulli says. "I feel you."

I smile gratefully, still fingering the mug. We talk more, of news and casual discussion, when I excuse myself to the restroom.

There isn't a girl for me out there, I know. I mean, why else am I still a bachelor?

Back home, the _mujeres _used to like me because I could play the guitar or because I was skilled, quick and agile despite my build. But these days, all they want is the famed Miguel Camino, who has climbed the ladder of touring car racing, who has climbed his way into the World Grand Prix.

As I approach the table a second time, I find two more people have arrived. I recognize Rip's sweater of green, red and orange, but who is that beside him?

"Sorry I'm late," I say instantly, because I missed Rip's arrival, and the girl turns to me, her bangs fluffing over her eyes slightly.

She's beautiful, with big brown eyes that match her flowing hair. I almost freeze to the spot, but I don't.

"Who's this?" I ask casually as I sit, my eyes still on her.

"Miguel, meet Margarita Kallide-Stevenson," Lewis says, and she smiles slightly, waving a little, then returns to her coffee.

_Margarita._ A beautiful, rare name for a beautiful, rare sight.

"Cousin of Marlene," Lewis continues. "Margo," he turns to the girl in orange, "this is Miguel Camino, from–"

"–Pamplona, Spain," she continues casually, eyes still on her coffee. Was she smiling? "Started in the 'Running of the Bulls'. Flair, style and agility in the ring proved him to be one of the more perfect drivers," she enumerates.

My mouth gapes slightly. She's a _fangirl_?

"How do you know so much about him?" Carla asks.

"What?" she shoots back, self-conscious. "Research. I mean, how else would I know Carla's from Rio, and known to attend Carnavale, and what led to her career was setting a new lap record there? Or how am I supposed to know Max is an engineer like me?" She addresses her audience as she speaks, because the question seems to register in all their gazes. She shrugs. "How else do we know things?"

"I know that," Carla says, a little irritated, "but I'd like to know how you know so much about Miguel Camino. Is it a bigger interest?" she adds softly.

My eyes widen at the implication, and my interest piques.

"No!" she exclaims a little loudly. "If that were so, I'd engage in an hour-long discussion on him."

"Refill, madam?" a waitress says, and she holds out her mug. "Anything for you, sir?" the waitress says as she turns to me.

I'm so deep in thought I barely notice. "Cup of coffee for me, thanks," I say, and she moves away.

"So, what's the news?" I ask as the mug is set in front of me. Surely something had happened while I was gone.

"Well, these two have been proved guilty of being in a relationship," Francesco says, pointing with his thumb.

Anger flashes at my friend's luck, and I study the girl, who narrows her eyes ever so slightly at me.

"Congrats, _amigo_," I say casually, and he only nods. I almost roll my eyes.

As the rest of them talk in pairs an trios, I only watch the girl in front of me talk to my friend, sipping my coffee slowly.

I can see Rip, tense like he's about to pounce. Both gaze into each other's eyes, and I feel an angry feeling under my skin. My friend sighs, and her temple touches to his shoulder. They talk, but I can't hear it; the music drowns their murmurs out, but I can read his lips after he smiles.

"I love you."


	5. No Harm Done

_Officially, I am making TCUASP my priority, since I can't contain my excitement over what happens to my Stevenson counterpart. x3_

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

_****(Margo's POV)_

Everyone scatters after breakfast. I lead Rip away from the everyone else and seek the security of the garage. There war have a private discussion. Well, sort of.

"I didn't like what you did there," he growls, turning on me as he's at the front of my 458. I'm standing at his taillights.

"I just wanted Lewis to cut to the chase," I say.

He looks at me, scrutinizing me, and crosses the length of my 458 in three strides, his arms around me roughly, his lips fierce on mine. I gasp as surprise hits me, and I'm dazed by his sudden change in mood.

My arms are around his neck, my fingers snarled in his dark brown locks once more. I stand eagerly on tip toe, pressing against him, trying to close the gaps between us. His arms, on the other hand, are tight against my body. I whisper his name, and this makes him moan, his grasp tightening around me. As my eyes flicker open for a moment I see he's frowning, which I can only guess he likes it and wants more. I'm vaguely aware he's leaning on the car, but I don't care; it's Rip, after all.

When breathlessness drives us apart, my face lingers close to his, his every sweet breath warming my face. My hands drop to rest on his chest as he loosens his grip on me until his arms are just resting on my clothes.

"I love you," I breathe, my lips then on his, soft and sweet. "And I don't plan on replacing you."

This earns me a smile and beautiful pale green eyes. "I love you too," he murmurs, a song I'd like repeated times over.

We're interrupted by a cough to the side. We don't look sideways.

"Go bug someone else, Jeff," I say as Rip laughs softly, and my teeth flash, too.

"It's not Jeff," I hear an unfamiliar accent and voice, and instantly we glance at him, one of Rip's hands on my upper back defensively. The man I'm trying to avoid is just feet away from us.

Miguel Camino.

I feel Rip, tense as he was at Flo's, and he growls, "What are you doing here?" Irritation is in his tone.

Miguel only shrugs. "Not your business," he says.

"The reason you're disturbing us is my business," Rip snarls.

"You're not supposed to be doing that in the first place," Miguel shoots back.

I see Rip's jaw lock. _Checkmate._

"Just leave, Miguel," I say, almost hesitating on his name. "Just leave."

His eyes are on me, gaze meeting mine, and I feel myself weaken. Deep green has never looked this sexy.

Miguel swallows, then turns to leave us alone. I bury my face in Rip's warm neck, frustration clawing in my belly. His head sort of rests on mine, murmuring words of gentleness, but I don't pay much attention.

Why do I feel this way—uneasy and excited—when he looks at me? Better yet, why do I _allow_ myself to feel the attraction? I don't want to hurt Rip, but can I handle the dismay every time I see disappointment in Miguel's gaze?

Rip kisses my hair lightly, holding me close as I swallow the lump in my throat, and I push all thoughts of his rival away. Instead I revel in his warmth, affection, scent and presence.

That day, I try to avoid any contact with Miguel altogether, but I don't dare risk my 458's health. Instead we are with other racers, talking or drinking again, or otherwise occupying each other, period.

News of our relationship has spread like wildfire. Mia and Tia are asking questions. Flo has just congratulated us. Mater did something to resemble a love confession. I slapped my palm over my face. These people are making a big fuss over nothing. But Rip tells me it's alright; at least everyone knows I'm his.

I'm not so sure.

When Rip is called alone, I start work on my 458, switching to a designated shirt and sweater for work like this. I roll up my sleeves and get to work, turning up my MP3 on the speakers. Every mechanic knows that a headset will fall into the engine, get oil in it, and will never work again. Some learned it the hard way.

I've barely even started when he strides in.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asks.

I'm wise not to meet his eyes. "They called, he joined them," I say.

He leans on the side of the car, observing me. I want to ask him not to lean, but I can't; he's wearing a cotton jacket by the looks of it, and no jewelry.

"What are you doing here?" I ask self-consciously. It's useless trying to waste my energy getting angry at him; he hasn't done anything yet, anyway.

"I've nothing to do," he replies casually. "And besides, you're the only one I don't know around here."

I can't deny he's one of the least-known in terms of personal issues in my list, but why? Why get to know me? I'm just a girl who likes something a girl doesn't usually like.

"Why get to know me?" I ask, caution in my tone now. "Why not Mia or Tia?"

"Because I've got no interest in Mia or Tia," he replies.

Oddly enough, I don't narrow my eyes at him.

"Really?" I try offering conversation. I really don't like going against Rip, but I'm just talking. No harm done, right? "So what's so interesting about me?"

"You like cars and racing," he says immediately. "And well…I think you're pretty."

My bowed head jerks up for the first time, and I meet his eyes, deep green and smoldering. Biggest mistake yet. I tear my eyes from his, and now I'm pretty much sure I'm unable to hide the pinkness in my cheeks. I hiss a curse and he laughs lightly.

Oh, his voice is like music when he's happy.

I sigh in defeat. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he blurts, and I raise a brow at him.

I straighten, my hands in a rag. "Well, I have to start somewhere," I say, reaching for a tool.

"Let me see," he muses, thinking. "How about we start with something basic: your interests."

"I love green," I say immediately, and he stares at me. I don't flinch from his gaze, but I do get the feeling I'm lifting his hopes. "Well, somewhere along that line, really." I bend over the 4.5 L V8 engine. "I love different shades of green—blue-green, pale green, mint, or deep green—as needed."

"'As needed'?" he repeats.

I nod. "As my moods shift, I start liking other shades. But other colors describe what I'm feeling, like yellow or gold for happy, deep red for sexy." I shrug, and straighten. It's not the engine, I realize.

I wash my hands in the sink nearby, then close the hood.

"What's the problem?" he asks.

My hands are on my hips. "I don't know, but I know it's not his engine."

"I thought people refer–"

"–auto's as a girl?" I continue, smirking. "Most people do. Especially you men." His eyes flash slightly, which makes me smile wider. "But I like to refer to my 458 as my first love, I suppose."

"Oh, this is yours?" he says. "You're not just fixing it for someone?"

"Yup," I say, biting back the retort of 'Well, I'm fixing it, so shouldn't it be my car?'

Suddenly, congo drums sound, and my ears prick at the song playing. I dance to the song as I fix the toolbox, and as the vocals are heard, I sing along. When I pop my head over the car again to look at him, he's astonished.

"You like _Cuando Me Enamoro?_" he asks in disbelief.

I snort. "Yeah," I reply. "One of my favorites."

"Do you even know what it means?"

"It means, 'When I Fall in Love,'" I reply. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"But do you speak it?"

I nod. "Part of the curriculum in college," I say between singing. "But I mastered Italian better than Spanish for the sole purpose of doing a living in _Italia_."

"_¿Sabes lo mucho que te gusta?_" he asks, and my lips part in disbelief, and I flush. He laughs as he sees the flush in my cheeks. I shake my head to clear it, and stop the music.

I hate me. I hate what I did. I hate what I started. I don't want it. Just…no. I stuff the player in the trunk, and change in the restroom. I'm still putting on my golden sweater over my red button-ups.

You're wondering why I have a supply of button-ups and sweaters. Well, one, I prefer button-ups than shirts, and two, it's freakishly cold in Chicago in October.

"Did you want to do something today?" he offers.

I shake my head. "I've got an empty schedule, unless you count me writing all day," I add, wondering what's on his mind.

"Want to stay?" he asks, and I can see the rest of the question in his eyes. _Want to stay with me?_ he's really asking.

I blink, cocking my head to the side a little. I don't know when Rip would be back, and I know he'll be frustrated with me when he finds out. But I'm just going to spend the day with someone while his attention is diverted from me. Seems legit.

I smile. "What's on your mind?" I ask, siding by him.


	6. Games

_**baby inuyasha13**__, which one? xD If you ask me, I prefer Miguel, really. *squeaks* ^o^_

_**Pancake3298:**__ I don't think I'll ever get over your description of his 'Latino-ness'. D8_

_To those of you who are wondering what song I was referring to in Chapter 5, that would be __**Cuando Me Enamoro by Enrique Iglesias with Juan Luiz Guerra**__, and is one of my declared favorites as I read its translation. *Yes, I don't speak Spanish, unless you count numeral Spanish.* At any rate, for you interested readers out there who actually read my Author's Notes, I have a special mission for you._

_My newest avatar features the two men who are fighting over my baby girl, Margo. :) In this story, there are, have been, and will be many incidences (that are seriously NOT among the interactions of the characters, but in the background) that I am suggesting who Margo is going to pair with at the end of this story, who she has paired with in __**La Vita Di Amore**__ and in __**Happy Birthday with Love**__. It's up to you guys to guess. 78D *7 since the 'greater than' sign doesn't work. :P*_

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

_(Margo's POV)_

At the moment, I don't really care if Rip gets mad at me. I don't care if I'll get a long discussion on loyalty later. Because I'm having fun.

As part of the do-nothing schedule, the men have organized a mini-sports contest, consisting of old and new stuff bought earlier and found today. Each day has at least two games of play. The mothers sit it out and are back in Radiator Springs to tend to their children, but I join in and get some exercise. I've been cooped up for far too long, and I'm bursting with energy..

Those who have joined in are either finished with tinkering each other's cars, exchanging strategies, or drinking. Those playing are me, Miguel, Max, Lewis, Jeff, Francesco, Lightning, Raoul, Nigel, and Carla. We don't know where Rip and Shu are, but I'm guessing they're back at Radiator Springs, because we have set up some sort of court nearby in the desert.

First up: volleyball. My hand instantly shoots up. I take off my sweater and roll up my sleeves—because I know I'll be sweating like hell as I play—as the teams and the other team's leader are decided. The men are divided, and Carla and I are on one side each. My team consists of Miguel(who else would volunteer in my team?), Francesco, Lewis and Max. At least the other team has Carla; she's probably the most sports-oriented of them. Before the game, I see Miguel stripping to just his black pants and just in that. I can't help staring.

The game starts. I serve. It's over the net! Everyone scrambles to catch the ball, some of them tripping over each other in their haste. It soars back over the net, and I receive it. It flies straight up, and Francesco, Max and Lewis don't know what to do. I open my mouth to scream at them, but Miguel soars over my head to slap the ball down just inches from Jeff's face.

I swear I could see his muscles flex under his skin.

He drops to the ground, and looks at me with a satisfied grin. I laugh in triumph as I realize we've scored a point.

I couldn't help but think how much power he put into that smash. I wonder how he got ripped, but a fact registers in my mind: he's a bullfighter. Or, rather, he used to be. Gods, this man will kill me before I even have the chance to touch him.

I serve again. This time, Carla meets the ball, and my team is dumbfounded as her set jiggles under her sleeveless top. I screech for Max to hit as I run. There's no chance of me hitting that ball; I'm on the other end of our side and he's near the net. But Lewis comes to and hits it, and I give the final lob over the net. The other team thinks I'll hit it far, but it's a normal lob that goes over the net, falling just inches from it. We get another point.

As laughter and howls are heard, the game ends joyfully, with my team winning. But the teams were fair, really; their team had Carla, Jeff and Lightning, three of the more physically-fit drivers. Either way, everyone was happy, and were preparing for the next event: Frisbee.

It's pretty basic, really; we get the Frisbee to the other end of two drawn ends, and whoever reaches seven points wins. Here's the catch: you have to pass it to another player as soon as you have the disc, and the opposing team tries to get it from you. The lineup for the first team is me, Max, Jeff, Lightning and Nigel, whilst the other team had Lewis, Francesco, Carla, Raoul and Miguel.

Carla and I are at the middle, the rest of our teams scattered around both sides. When I give the signal, I toss the Frisbee to the far end. It hits the ground, and Lewis has it. He tosses it, flying past my head—I'm too slow—and Francesco sends it flying towards their goal. I'm frustrated, but we continue.

As usual, everyone's having fun and we're all screaming like nitwits, but somewhere in the game, where my team is leading 5-4, something unexpected happens.

The ball—or should I say the disc—is tossed to me. Miguel comes running at full pelt towards me, and time slows as the wind blows upwind.

His green eyes glow in happiness and because the sunlight is glinting off them. And that's not all. What I really see is the sweat coming down from his skin, the muscles under his tan flexing with every hard movement he makes in an effort to reach the flying yellow disc.

The disc! My arms fly around it as it passes my chest, and I have it in my hold. But then someone has their arms around me, and I scream happily as Miguel tries wrestling the Frisbee from my grasp.

Suddenly, everyone else is quiet, and I look up to find Rip standing there, obviously furious. He has seen everything.

I am released from Miguel's grip, and we straighten. In my hands is the disc, and my face is more questioning than fearful. But I have a crawling feeling on my back, and I hate it. It's guilt.

Miguel is the first to speak. "_Hola, amigo_," he says, panting. "You're late."

"I can see that," the Rearendian growls.

"We were just having fun, Rip," Lightning says in an effort to calm that youngest driver. "Chill."

Everyone else is nodding and murmuring assent, and I feel they're backing me up. I try hanging on top Miguel's confidence, because I want to hide from Rip's gaze, but I can't because he's the main reason Rip is mad.

The man glaring at me relaxes, breathes, and bows his head. "Alright," he says finally, raising his head. His eyes are on mine, and I can tell he's still mad.

Frustration makes my breath hot. Why can't Rip see we're just having fun?"

I slap the Frisbee onto Miguel's belly, harder than I'd like, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I don't want to play anymore," I growl, and stalk away, picking my sweater up from the bags as I go. I head for Radiator Springs, even if it is a near-mile away.

"Whoa, where are you going?" I hear Miguel call.

"I'm going home," I say. I hear a commotion and suddenly Miguel is beside me.

"You can't just leave!" he says.

"I just did," I reply somberly.

"But what about the game?" he asks.

"Go finish it yourselves," I say flatly, trying to keep the anger out of my voice.

"It won't be the same," he pleads.

"Will you just leave me for a while?" I shriek, stopping and flailing my arms into the air. My voice is then reduced to a hiss. "Can't you see Rip is furious with me?"

"We're just playing," he reasons out.

My head and hands drop. "I was more than that," I murmur, looking sadly into his eyes. I then stagger away, exhaustion making my muscles ache.

"Then I'm coming with you," he says as he sides by me. I notice his shirt and jacket is on his arm.

I shake my head before I could look past his arm. "Go back," I order, my eyes drooping slightly. I can feel my head pound and my body start to shut down. I know I'll never make it to Radiator Springs, but I have to try.

"If they should lose a valuable player, then my team should, too," he declares.

My head now hurts so much I can barely reply, but I find a hole in the fog. "No!" i exclaim as loud as I can. "Go back," I snarl.

"I won't let your team be at such a disadvantage-"

I trip over my feet, and fall to the ground with a thud. Oddly enough, the warm, red sand feels so good, and I feel like I could sleep for a month.


	7. Decisions, Decisions

_I shall show my location, __**Mere**__. :) It should be in my profile. xD And try this in the user page after you login: Publish - Doc Manager - Upload your chapter - New story (be sure to read the guidelines!)_

_Noo I mean your description is __verry niiiice.__ And nooo, __**Pancake3298**__. She could have fainted when Miguel started stripping right there, just feet in front of her, or at the smash point. Imagine __**that**__. And don't feel bad for Rip! She's got something up her sleeves._

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

_(Margo's POV)_

When I wake, it's morning. A glance out the window proves I've just reached the dawn. I rise to my feet, only to sway and fall back down on my butt. That's when I see that I've been changed into a new pair of black jeans and a deep green button-up.

I look around. The bags that hold my clothes are on the bed, but the ones that hold my personal things are nowhere to be seen. Rip is on a chair, straddling its backrest, head on his arms, arms on the backrest. I comb my fingers through my hair, and I find my ponytail gone again, only to find it on the side table. I collect it, as well as the rest of the stuff that lies on the wooden table: my keys and my silver watch.

I move to the man sleeping on the chair, and run my fingers through his hair. He wakes, and I'm on my knees. I don't like how I'm lower than I expected I would be, but my muscles can only stand so much. I smile as I see his pale green eyes, and he only stares at me, searching my gaze. I sigh sadly, almost exasperated, and I just stand to head for the bathroom to do my morning routine. As I leave, he's still there, just looking at me quietly. I head for my bags to find a brown sweater and a handkerchief, but before I leave I do one last thing.

I kneel over to where Rip is, and my hand cups his cheek. As I speak I stare into his green eyes. "I love you," I murmur. "But I need to talk to other people, too." When he doesn't respond I stand, but his hand catches my wrist, and I stop in my tracks.

He stands, and slowly makes his way over to my front. I barely notice his outfit; he hasn't changed in, what, three days? His hands take mine, and we stand there, heads bowed, hands in each other's.

"I don't want you to be with Miguel today," he mumbles.

I don't have enough energy yet to be frustrated. I'm just aching right now, and that's just about all my mind can focus on: to stay standing. But I speak. "What's wrong with being with Miguel?" My voice is tired, and it fits: I'm tired of him telling me to back away from Miguel.

"I just don't want you to."

"That's not an excuse," I say bluntly.

"Either way," he shoots back as flatly.

This is pointless. I release his hands and, along with my sweater, I stalk out of the room, out of the Cozy Cone, and across the road. The door makes a gentle brushing sound and a few clicks as I open it, and there's no jingling of the little warning bell. There's no crowd, but there are a few people sitting alone in tables, reading the morning paper. No music rings in my hears. Good. I'm in no mood to listen to anything today.

As one of the waitresses settles me in a booth in the opposite corner, in a place where I won't be easily seen, she fetches a mug of coffee for me and comes back to find me slouched. She asks if she can get me anything else, but I shake my head tiredly. She leaves a paper on the table, and curiously I read it.

_Choose._

I crumple it up in my hand. Stupid advice for me right now.

I mindlessly drink my coffee, not really willing to think about anything. I'm like a zombie: I'm exhausted of things haunting my soul, and in this case, Rip trying to hide me from the only entertainment there is aside from my computer. And, as if on cue, someone slips beside me gently. Out of the corner of my eye I see a gold against the deep red of the retro couch, and my mind registers a person whose voice hits my ears as he orders for coffee.

I lean on his shoulder quietly, and his presence seems to comfort me more than Rip's does. I relish it. His arm is around me, and I turn my head to smell his jacket. It smells like it's fresh from the washing machine, only it's weak, and I think of how many days it's been lying in that bag.

I close my eyes until I can focus. "I didn't mean to hurt him," I murmur.

"Neither did I," he agrees.

I nod, slow and lazy, as I bring the mug's rim to my lips. The coffee is so warm and good I breathe into the cup, because I don't want to set it down so soon.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" he asks. His tone is curious, but the question shows concern.

I shake my head. "I don't want to," I mumble as I set down the ceramic item. I scoot closer to him. He's just so warm, and the coffee can only heat so much.

I'm still so exhausted all I had been thinking about is the pain in my muscles and joints, and it causes my senses to generally blur, so someone has to catch my attention before I really focus. And what begs for my attention is the earlier situation in my room. But I don't care if Miguel is holding me in what I know are his strong arms, ones where I feel safe and secure, ones I know that can protect me.

A small voice asks, _How come you don't feel this way around Rip?_

I rack my brain for the answer, but I can't.

My mind then forms another question, _Are you more attracted to Rip or Miguel?_

The answer is simple: they're both tied. I love Rip and all that he is: sweet, sensitive, loving and a great kisser. I know he'll go through lengths for me, but how far would he got?

Miguel on the other hand, is downright outgoing and fun to be with, unlike Rip, who I have to be a little more careful with. I've got enough problems than to worry about myself around my boyfriend. And besides, I prefer someone to lead me, too, when I'm busy leading my own life.

But also, I want someone who can love me like crazy. Someone sweet and sensitive, just like Rip. Someone who can understand what I want. And I'm not sure Miguel is who I want.

I don't know how long I've dozed off on Miguel's shoulder, but when I come to, my right hand is claimed by his. I give a moan as I move my stiff limbs, and his arm is off. I stretch, bones cricking, and yawn. I glance at my watch. It's nine in the morning, and my mind comes to.

"Have they…?"

"No." he replies softly, green eyes soft.

I sigh in relief. "Can I wash my face?" I say as I feel sand in my eyes. He then helps me up as he leaves the couch.

As the cool water hits my face, I wake fully, and rub my face with my hands to get my blood flowing and my nerves going. I sigh. I now have to explain to Rip why I've disappeared for three whole hours.

I leave the restroom, quickly checking my belt, and head for the table I've been in since six in the morning. Miguel's there, waiting for me, and I sit down beside him.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"Exhausted," I reply. "My body still sort of hurts. But I'm good to go, I guess…so long as I'm today's scorer." I grin.

He returns it at my attempt at humor. "The games aren't until three in the afternoon, though," he says. "What will you do until then?"

My grin fades as I rack my brain for things to do today, but my smile comes back as I have an idea. "I disappear."

* * *

We bring along two thermoses of coffee and two mugs to match, and head away to the forests of Tailfin Pass, somewhere near the edge of the cliff as a detour, but still in the leaf-bare trees for a little shade. We park somewhere, and lean on the hood of his Maserati GranTurismo cabriolet—otherwise known as the Maserati GranCabrio—splitting the first thermos of coffee between us.

"So, what's this feeling of being locked up got to do with you?" I ask bluntly as I remember what he said earlier.

_"I don't know why Rip would keep you away from me; I'm is best friend," he told me._

_"I don't know, and I don't care," I say. "I mean, I can't always be locked up."_

_"I know the feeling," he murmured._

But he knows what I'm talking about. "One of my old best friends was a girl. We were close, then she became overprotective." He shrugged. "I know, even if it seems like a smaller scale."

I not. A question is suddenly off my tongue. "ever have siblings?"

He doesn't look at me. "Older brother. Killed by a bull."

I press my head to his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I murmur.

His arm slides around my back, his hand resting on my waist. "You had no idea," he mumbled into my hair.

We sit there for a moment, both my hands on my mug as I examine it, and he sips his coffee, staring towards the distance. I took delight in the way his arm held me: it was stronger than Rip's grasp, yet as gentle and secure, and I hardly felt this way when Rip holds me. As I breathed, aside from my hair and the coffee and the soap I can smell the faint scent of…hold up, is that vanilla?

"Yeah," he murmurs, and I look up to see him smiling down at me. I hadn't realized I spoke out loud in my disbelief. "Like it?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Me too."

He's quiet for a while—well, we are—and I remember my mother telling me that vanilla is good only in the cold autumn, winter and early spring months.

"Do you really love Rip?" he asks suddenly.

I jerk my head in surprise. There's concern in his voice, and a hint of jealousy. But I speak from the heart. I trust him.

"I'm not sure," I say, and I can feel his eyes on me. "I'm an outgoing and somewhat carefree person at my best; you've seen that." As he nods, I continue. "You've also seen how mad Rip could get." I sigh softly. "I don't want someone who holds me back from the party or from socializing with other people, especially men.

"I want someone who knows I'm loyal to him, even when I'm at a party or when I'm having fun."

"Well, you are loyal to Rip; that much I've seen," he puts in.

"I am!" I exclaim in anger. "But he doesn't trust me to be with you, and it's demeaning." I sniff un consciously, and that's when I know I'm crying. I apologize immediately. "I'm sorry, I just—"

But he holds me close, rubbing my upper arm as I cry. He murmurs soothing words in my ear as my body shakes.

Rip is being so unfair. He goes off, attention diverted, and leaves me. What does he trust me to do? Nothing; just stay put until he comes back. And my love of playing with males is NOT helping.

My cries turn to pitiful sniffling, and he holds my mug while I blow my nose in my handkerchief. As I warm my cold hands around the cup he again holds me close, but the damage has been done, and my heart hurts with a pang.

"I'm sorry I took it up," he murmurs at last.

I heave a sad sigh. "We couldn't've known." I smile up at him, forest colors meeting, then I look away.

"What other things do you like?" he asks finally.

"Well," I start, racking my brain, "I love music. I play the guitar and the piano in my spare time. I love to write when inspiration hits. I prefer quality of sound in my headsets. I read a lot." I blink. I think that's it. "I don't know if I have any more, but I'll tell you when I remember," I say sheepishly, and he chuckles slightly. "Your turn."

"I love music, too, and play classical guitar," he starts. "I love having fun—then again, who doesn't?—and prefer outgoing people. I love my flag's colors, but you have a point on moods matching colors," he says, and I chuckle shyly. "I don't like snobs or any bitching around; it's a pure waste of my time." he glances at the sky in thought. "That's it, I guess."

I laugh gently, amused, as I snuggle against his warm side.

We share jokes, tell long-ago stories of adventure in the ring and with my cousin, remember things we like or don't like. We relate to modern-world issues like politics and celebrity situations. He tells me of things that has happened in the past, like his old best friend telling the other girls who like playing with him to back off, or how heartbroken he was when his first girlfriend broke up with him. I tell him some of mine, like when my mom and dad fought like cat and dog, or times when my longest crush would amuse me but later show he doesn't want me, or when I started with Rip. We don't have lunch; we haven't wasted much energy, and I didn't really feel like moving from that spot beside him. The sun wasn't as hot as it was in the Philippines, at least; it was a good twenty-plus degrees in the noontime sun, really, and he agrees.

It's two in the afternoon when we return. I'm laughing like crazy when we get back, because the wind is in my hair and the caffeine has gotten into my bloodstream. No one seems to be waiting for us when we arrive. Wrong answer.

I find Rip leaning against my 458 gently. And I know he's seen it all.

I get out of the car, looking to Miguel if I should get the thermoses, but he just nods his head in Rip's direction, and I go. I weave through the line of cars, and head for the man with pale green eyes, head down, expecting him to tell me off. I stand there like an errant girl in front of a parent.

"I thought you wren't going to hang with him," he growls.

"I didn't have any choice," I say softly. I want to scream at him, but what good would that do? My chest already hurts from laughing. "I had nothing to do."

"Your car?" he suggests bluntly.

"I'm still recovering, Rip." It's my turn to snarl. "I'm still hurting in places too much to do repairs.

"But of all people to talk to, you pick him," he puts in gently, but the fury in his voice is unmistakable.

"He's the only one free enough to talk to!" I exclaim, hushed.

"What about Marlene or Sally, or the twins?"

"You know as well as I do I'd never get a word in edgewise," I say.

"But they're better than Miguel."

The pain in my joints and his unreason ability are two things that fuel anger and resentment. "Why are you so against Miguel, anyway?" I shoot again, my own arms crossed over my chest.

He's taken aback. I can see it, and as I look into his eyes, I see jealousy. I soften, and my arms fall. I move forward, hands on his arms.

"Are you jealous?" I ask softly.

Surprise clouds his eyes, and he turns away. "No!" he says indignantly.

I grin. I've hit the mark. "Rip, it's alright to be jealous; you just have to tell me," I tell him gently.

His back is to me, and he shakes his head. I grin wider. He _is_ jealous. I move forward, my arms around his waist, my face on his shoulder.

"You can tell me," I croon softly.

His head turns to me, and I flash my pretty brown puppy-dog eyes.

"No, not that again," he moans, looking away.

"Please?" I beg him mildly, and he looks at me.

He turns in my arms. "Alright," he says, finally, smiling slightly. "Maybe I am jealous."

I press my face to his chest. "You don't have to be," I murmur. He hoods me close, kissing my hair. "I love you," I say, looking up at him.

He's smiling down at me, returning my grin, and bends his head to kiss me.

A blast of emotions sends my nerves to hyperdrive, and I instantly press closer as I realize my hunger for…this. But he stops, much to my dismay, and reels me in for a hug. As my chin rests on his shoulder, I see Miguel.

He may be smiling, but there's no mistaking the sadness in his green eyes. He waves good-bye and turns to leave.

My head strains to catch his eye as he turns, but he doesn't see. I want to reach out to him, to tell him to stay, but how can I? Why _should_ I?

I have Rip. But is it really necessary for me to think and act like he's the last man on earth, like he's my final decision?

I'm not sure about my answer yet, but I've the gut feeling I'll have to decide soon. _Very_ soon.


	8. Enamorandose

_Hey guys. :) I'm sorry this POV came out late, but I'd only just remembered and did it today. So I kinda left out a part. ._

* * *

_**Chapter Eight**_

_(Miguel's POV)_

Damn Rip for being such a killjoy! I was just having fun, and now this happens.

But why do I like her? It's only been a day since we met. No, wait, it's been _barely_ a day since we met this morning. But whatever I've known about her, it's really even better than knowing another girl back in _España._ …yes, it's much better than that, because she's the kind of girl I really want to get to know.

But she's bound by the limits of her new _boyfriend_. And I'm frustrated by that.

A girl shouldn't be caged up like that. Especially not this woman. She has a free spirit, and only keeping her locked up will worsen problems.

This girl knows her limits; that I'm sure of. Even if she is Rip's girlfriend, I can't help admiring her loyalty to him. I mean, she should keep playing, but she isn't. She just…left.

And now that she's walking away, I can't seem to help myself. I follow her. I say things that mean I care, but in another's eyes, I know it's their version of _flirting_.

"I won't let your team be at such a disadvantage!" I say, but she stumbles, and I freeze.

She drops to the ground, curling up with softness now in her features. As everything comes back to me in a rush, I'm bending over her, then calling the rest of the guys over.

"Miguel, what happened?" Lightning asked me, the others bent over her worriedly.

"She just fell," I say.

"Well, let's get her back home," Francesco orders. "Let's get her in the car." He then gives out orders to ready the van we came in and to pick up the stuff, and calls me away. But I can't. She's just so peaceful, so opposite from the outgoing girl I was playing with earlier.

"Miguel!" the older racer roars. "Come on and help us with the stuff!"

"You better go," Rip says. That's when I notice he's in a mix of emotions: from surprised to frustrated to eager.

I stare at him for a moment longer, and I stand. I fit my shirt over myself, even if I am wet, and help the others. Minutes later we are on the road home, and I'm seated right behind Rip, who's holding Margo in his arms as we ride.

I can't help feeling jealous of my friend's luck. He's got a girl who's sweet and loyal to him, and he just tries to push her away. Or at least, that's what she feels.

I mean, if they really did trust each other, or if he really trusted her, she would still be playing. He wouldn't be so frustrated. She would still be happy. But no; she's fainted under all the stress, and the high has gone.

When we get home, Francesco drops us off before he goes to park in the garage. I try helping Rip with her, and even if he is reluctant to hand her to me, he still needs me to help him. I mean, how can he stand with about a hundred pounds in his arms?

He and I reach her room, and he searches her pockets for the keys to her room. It unlocks, and we are inside. I set her on the bed, fixing her hand over her belly. She twitches slightly, like she's in a deep sleep and she's dreaming. I can't help smiling slightly.

"Well, you can leave us now," Rip says.

My head snaps to face him. This is the moment of truth.

"You can't just keep her caged like that," I say. He's bewildered, and I explain. "I saw what passed between you both. You're keeping her on a tight leash, aren't you?" When he still doesn't respond, I look to her because I can't stand looking at my friend's eyes, which I know will hurt later, and besides, her peaceful form gives me the strength I need. "You can't keep her away from society. She's not some mouse you keep in a cage, a guinea pig kept in a lab. She's fickle like a cat, and she'll be that way whether you like it or not. Rip," I look at him now, "you have to let her go her own way at some point." I see the mad look in his eyes and I know he's thought of the wrong thing. "I mean, she has to socialize, Rip. She's not a little girl anymore. I'm not telling you to break up with her, but at least let her enjoy life as it should be."

"Who are you to tell me what to do and how to handle her?" he snaps at me. "I'm her boyfriend, and I'll do things the way I want them to be!"

How much has this girl set my best friend away from me? Is it her fault? Is it mine? Is it Rip's? Should I even care for her?

These questions and more are running through my mind as I scrutinize my best friend, one I have trusted with all my secrets, one I have learned to trust over the years. But now, he's changed. He's changed so much, and I have no idea why or how this happened.

"Alright," I concede. I know I'm a lower ranking person in this situation; I have no reason to touch her any more than necessary. I don't have to fight when I know I can't really even win. With one last look at her I leave for my own hotel room.

My sleep is disturbed. That much I realize when I wake at about six in the morning. I rise, tired and muscles stiff. I stretch and give myself a bath. I put on a black shirt and jeans, and over that shirt is one of my signature jackets. I'm sure I'll have it cleaned someday.

I stagger out into the hall, and I leave the Cozy Cone and head over to Flo's. Six in the morning all through to about nine-thirty is the morning special. They give out just about all the coffee you can drink. After breakfast all you can have is about three mugs of the drink then you pay for the next set of three. I push open the door, and glance around.

There's no music, no wind chimes in my ear, no crowd buzzing. It's quiet, and every table seems to have just one person each. I choose a quiet place so I can think, and find the far side of the café undisturbed. And that's not the only thing undisturbed. There's a girl seated in one of the booths, and I recognize her shoes. It's Margo.

Unconsciously I settle beside her, and call for a mug of coffee. As it's set down in front of me she leans her head on my shoulder, and all I do is slip my arm around her as I drink.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," she says softly, not looking up from her drink.

I understand immediately. That's just about all we ever talk about, and the situation seems to affect us both. Rip.

"Neither did I," I reply.

I can feel her head move as she nods, then turns to sip her coffee slowly. She closes her eyes, reveling in the warmth of the beverage.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" I ask. I don't want to offend, so I keep my tone as soft as possible.

She shakes her head. "I don't want to." She snuggles against my side, face in my jacket. I just tighten my hold around her slightly, and she moves with it. Our sides are touching, and she doesn't make any effort to move away.

It's minutes before her harsh, irregular breathing turns to soft, peaceful snoring. A wave of affection rushes through me, and I turn my head to kiss her hair lightly, then rest myself against the couch's backrest.

It's a beautiful feeling, being with her in this serene time and place. But somehow, I wish we were somewhere else, seated in or on the hood of my Maserati, sharing coffee like old friends, either laughing at jokes or just sitting side by side.

Hardly anything crosses my mind in the three hours we're seated there. In the last hundred-eighty-something minutes, all I've had are just six mugs of decaffeinated coffee.

And then, she's stirring. I release her as she sits straight and stretches. She searches her pockets for her watch, and her eyes seem to widen.

"Have they…?"

She's right to assume, but no one has disturbed us. "No."

She sighs softly. When she excuses herself to the restroom I help her up, since she looks like she'll fall over at any moment. And then, some of the racers start filing in, sitting at the usual corner booth. We're lucky they don't notice, because she's walking towards me already, and sits.

"How do you feel?" I blurt.

"Exhausted. My body still sort of hurts. But I'm good to go, I goes…so long as I'm today's scorer." She smiles.

I return it, slightly amused. I remind her the games are not until later. "What will you do until then?"

Her smile fades, and I can see her eyes stare into space as she looks at me, then it comes back, beautiful brown eyes focused on mine. "I disappear."

My wish is granted. We're at Tailfin Pass with two thermoses of coffee, sharing the first. We talk about a lot of things: family, friends, sad and happy experiences alike, old jokes, and more. How can this day be ruined by this?

But she tells me we have to get back, and we arrive an hour before the games start. And there in the garage is her boyfriend, waiting for her. As they talk, I collect the two empty metal canisters and walk, but I pause to catch her eye.

As I turn my head though, I see them kissing. Jealousy rushes through me hard, and the feeling that I want to tear Rip away from her, to tell him off harder than I did last night, because I know he's lying. To her, and to me. Because the Rip I know would let me be involved in their relationship as a friend. At least, the Rip I _knew_.

But how can I? She's declared her love for him, he's done the same for her. How on earth can I interfere with such a strong emotion as love?

He pulls her in for a hug, and her head comes over his shoulder to look at me. Her eyes meet mine, and I just wave. I'm sick of seeing her in love with him and vice versa, and I can't stand it any longer. I leave, my heart hurting.

But there's another feeling though, aside form the negative ones I feel. It's determination.

I'm determined to let her know I love her.


	9. Restart

_Since __**Pancake3298**__ has requested more Spanish, then here's more Spanish! 83 And more will follow after this chapter, of course. x3_

* * *

_**Chapter Nine**_

_(Margo's POV)_

Three days pass. We play. We race. I'm healed in a day of no moving, and begin repairs from under my 458, along with starting to play again, but only one game a day. Rip has dedicated himself to staying with me as much as he can, or he brings me along when he's needed. Miguel leaves us alone. These days, Mia and Tia join our games as scorer and referee, but I think they're just there to watch Lightning play.

One day, I find out that Rip has requested in confidence that he stays in my room instead of a separate one, and insists on it. Sally is reluctant because of the circumstances, but allows it. Nothing happens though, except I'm more confident sleeping in that room now.

Today is a day and a week before the RSGP, a beautiful Saturday. Rip and I are still working on my 458 in the garage. I'm suited in my work clothes, which has been reduced to a simple shirt. The car is raised up above my head, a lamp hung on one of the axles. The problem is within the undercarriage.

"So," he starts, "now that I'm right here, now that you've got me, what do you think?"

"It's awfully nice," I say as I strain to tighten a nut into place while he stands right there in front of me.

"Really?" he asks, his arms around my waist as I work.

I stop working, arms still over my head, and look at him. "You know, I'm working," I tell him with a raised brow.

"Well, so am I," he says, and lays his lips against mine.

My arms lower over his shoulders, making sure my greased hands and wrists don't touch his clothes. My eyes close automatically. I press against him, stepping slightly forward. His lips are fierce, like he wants something more than what I've been giving him these days, and I'm powerless to do anything since my mind has fogged. I don't try pulling away, even if his grip has gotten tighter around me.

A flick of his tongue on mine sends a rumble in my throat, and he's welcome to my teeth and more. I'm lost in wonder once again, and all I can do is hang on to my sanity, because one more inch and I'm surely going to fall into the depths of sin.

Right now, I don't care if Miguel has been showing off his 'mad skillz' in the games, as visitors DJ, Boost, Wingo and Snot Rod call it. I don't care right now about the fact he may be a better choice for me. Because I love Rip, and right now, he's all that matters. Well, for the next forty seconds or something.

"Get a room," someone howls, and as we turn, the whole gang is there, laughing at our horrified expressions. And what is that dark thing in Miguel's hands?

The thing immediately registers, and I scramble from Rip's hold to race towards the Spaniard, wrench still in my hands. "Come back, you!" I call angrily, but I'm laughing as we move to the open, he's still filming.

Panicked yells make me look sideways, and I see a truck and he doesn't. I pour on the speed this time, and grab the front of his shirt just in time. We stagger to the side of the road, and he wonders angrily what's going on.

"Aren't you grateful I just saved your life?" I screech at him. "And stop that filming!" He stops recording, and everyone's instantly upon us.

Everyone comments on how lucky the Spaniard is, and Rip gives me a once-over, my back to the group. I'm still mad at Miguel's momentary annoyance with me, but as people fill him in his gaze at me softens. The gang shuts up enough for him to speak.

"Margo," he calls, and I turn my head to let him know he's got my attention. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Next time, watch where you're going," I snarl, and push Rip away to stalk back to my work.

But I'm tired. My back aches from looking up. My legs are tired from standing and running. So I just stuff my tools in the box and lower my 458. I'm mildly aware of the man coming closer as I glance at the mirrorlike paint job. I'm mildly aware of the damage I've done to his white shirt.

"I'm sorry," he just says. "I didn't know a truck was coming." He comes closer. I'm quiet as he speaks. "That stunt we did earlier was Jeff's idea. I…I never meant to cause any harm. All I wanted—all we wanted—was to have some fun with you two; you both never seem to be away from each other these days."

As the silver sports car lands safely onto the painted concrete, I speak. "If you wanted me to join you guys, you could've asked me or Rip. You didn't have to prank us like that."

"I know that."

I look around. "By the way, where is he?" I ask.

"I asked him if I could speak to you alone," he says.

My gaze flicks back to him, a brow raised. "And why should you talk to me, alone?"

He glances behind him and around us before he speaks. "_Porque hay algo que tengo que decirte_."

"And what is that?"

His hands hold mine, even if my fingertips have been smeared in dust and grease. "_Te amo y te necesito para saber que, si alguna vez Rip te duele, voy a estar aquí, esperando por usted_."

His tone is serious but gentle. His green eyes show nothing but love and hope. I only look up at him in surprise, lips parted slightly, and I'm speechless. Surely he knows I will never be able to love him, no matter what happens, no matter what I do, because of Rip?

It's three seconds after his small speech when his lips meet one in a sweet, light kiss. I'm startled by this, and before I know it, he leaves me alone, my eyes following him.

Maaan, I groan inwardly. Rip is going to kill—no, flay me alive—if he sees or hears about this.

And then, Rip rounds the wall, still looking over his shoulder. The instant I see him I compose myself, ready for the rebuke I'm sure he'll give me. But it doesn't come as I wash my hands in the nearby sink.

"What did he do?" he asks. His tone is casual.

"Just said sorry," I reply. I swear I could still feel my lips tingle.

"That's good," he murmurs, and he's behind me, arms around my waist.

I don't notice I've stopped in my tracks until he brings it up.

"Still frustrated about earlier?" he suggests, and I nod.

"It's just so unfair," I put in for good measure.

He laughs, and kisses my hair. I'm grateful Rip's not very assuming when he's convinced and/or happy. I press against him, but I don't feel what I felt before the howl earlier.

This time, I feel worse.


	10. Secrets

_Woo, now I'm lost. xD Been writing two chapters for __**LVDA**__, and now I'm working on __**TCUASP**__. xD Lololol hope you guys enjoy, and keep your fingers crossed!_

_Thanks to __**anon**__ for the correction; I seriously needed that. *peace, sister/brother* Thanks to __**MrsChickHicks**__, too, for reviewing the last chapter. :)_

_And guys, remember to review so I can go on! Impending block is impending! Dx_

* * *

_**Chapter Ten**_

_(Margo's POV)_

That night, Rip and I are invited to a mini-party, as well as all those invited to the RSGP and passersby are included in the party. It's free drinks for passersby, but a small admission fee is required because, well, you're not invited. Marlene's editor and Lewis' girlfriend are there as special invites, and more people are there than in the guest list. The venue is at Wheel Well, so if you want to go in but don't' want to pay, then go home, because drinks are limited until they use the admission money to buy some more.

"Do I get to talk to people?" I tease.

"Of course," he says, smiling as I do.

I go in a vanilla dress shirt I've been saving for a special occasion with a brown sweater vest that has an argyle pattern. My long sleeves are rolled to about three-fourths of my arms. Black pants and one-inch-high, peep-toe heels of the same color finish my ensemble. Rip goes in a pale gray polo and a sweater vest of his homeland's colors, along with black pants and dress shoes. I've fixed my 458 about an hour and a half earlier, starting about twenty minutes after I've thought that I've nothing to do aside from fixing him up. I let Rip take him out for a spin, and that's when we head for Wheel Well already.

As we get out of the car, he tosses the keys to me. The night is chilly, but gives me a few minutes to warm up just beside the car. We enter arm in arm, and I greet my cousin first—my goal is to greet everyone there—before I return to the gang for some fun.

I decide I can let myself loose with a can of beer as Jeff offers me one. I side by the American bachelor, and on my right is Rip. Anyone volunteers to tell jokes, a story, or start a happy discussion where the rest of the gang can put in their opinions. In a hyper mood I can almost think faster and call out more confidently.

As Latin music plays, Carla starts swaying provocatively, and the men—well, the bachelors for the most part—hoot as they eye her. Well, who can blame them; she's in some get-up that's not really fit for this weather. As she dances towards my boyfriend, the men are going 'ooh' and are laughing as they try provoking my anger and jealousy. I roll my eyes as I take a sip of the beer in my hand. But as a slightly tipsy Rip takes her hand and a tango-like instrumental hits, the men get excited over my reaction. The music hits its last more, and Rip brings her close with an arm around her waist and a small on his face as he looks down at her. The others clap, but I raise my can to my lips.

I did just that because I can feel a wave of jealousy in my belly. But why should I be jealous?I mean, I've declared Rip mine, but why do I get the feeling he's holding back? That's when I find the answer: he said he doesn't really dance, and now he's doing some adaptation of a tango.

The two settle back in line, and Rip's arm is around me once more. I want to shy away because I'm frustrated, but I don't. I don't want to give him the impression I'm mad or spoil his evening. (I'm _that_ soft.)

And then, a long-favorited song fro swing is on the speakers, and I instantly sway to the beat. The intro is long and exciting, and it builds up to a tango-like riff with trumpets and percussion. The song depicts romance and a sexy feeling and nothing else.

Suddenly, my can is out of my hand and I'm pulled on to the dance floor. AS the lyrics, melody and beat hit my ears in its beautiful first verse, my mind hits seventh gear and I'm dancing learned steps before I know it. The crowd is yowling encouragement as I twirl and step in my leader's arms. I give voice to my enjoyment as laughter and smiles, my earlier frustration forgotten. I'm dazed by the music and the beet that I don't really know who I'm dancing with. It's only until the music ends that I realize I'm dancing with Miguel. Everything comes back to me, and I think of a move that'll throw Rip off-balance. I'm influenced, so it doesn't really matter.

My forefinger traces from his neck to his stomach, and everyone hoots as I get back in line and drink. Suddenly, my right arm is pinched, and I look to Rip and see him glaring at me.

"I thought I get to talk to people?" I ask.

"You said 'talk', not dance," he growls.

"Look who's talking," I retort. He doesn't reply, but I can hear a rumble in his throat.

Irritation sparks in me. "What is it you want, Rip?" I ask. "Do you want me to stay home and shut my griping while you have fun? That's extremely unfair you know."

"But you were dancing—"

"And _you_ led Carla onto the dance floor, didn't you?" My voice is raised above the din in anger, and the line of men and women look to us. "If you really think about it, I think you're flirting with Carla, too. Does _that_ make any sense to you?"

But I don't move from my spot as I drink. When I finish the can I ask Guido for a coke. I want to be in a righter state of mind from now on and I don't know why.

The men then scatter to find places to sit together and to find other people to entertain, and I side by Carla at the bar and we talk. At least I'm sober enough to think straight.

"So, what's with you and Rip?" I ask. "I mean, I'm just asking."

"I understand your concern, and I am sorry," she says. "But there's nothing going on between us," she adds, and sadness mottles her flat tone.

I examine my soft drink before I speak. "Pretend I'm not his girlfriend. Pretend my boyfriend is…Jeff." She laughs at the choice of name, but I just smile and wave my hand and say, "Whatever. Just pretend."

"Well," she says slowly, still smiling, "I've always liked Rip. He's quiet and sweet, and can be the life of the party when he's comfortable around people he knows." I nod mindlessly because she's right, to the last detail. She's looking in Rip's direction as she speaks, affection flooding her gaze. "I mean, he's the only one that's…different."

That makes me think twice about him. He's the first guy to befriend me, ilk I'm someone he can welcome and not someone he can make fun of. He's the first guy I like that's ever made me feel good about myself. I know I'm blushing as I think of the the better things he has to offer. But I ask something out of the blue.

"How about anything negative?" I blurt. "I just want your opinion."

She stares at me curiously, then furrows her brows thoughtfully. "He can be overprotective, I guess," she muses. "I mean, from what I've seen."

I nod sadly. "True dat," I murmur.

"I'm sorry, _mi amiga_," she relates.

"I'm sorry, too."

She wonders why.

"I have Rip," I say plainly, but there's no triumph in my tone.

She shrugs. "It is fate, I guess."

I smile gratefully, and she returns it before asking her own question. "What's with you and Miguel?" she shoots back, still smiling.

I blush thickly, and my skin is tingling. I look down in shame and she laughs.

"Can't say?" she suggests.

"I _cannot_ say," I agree, and sigh. "Rip isn't so…outgoing. He's too much concerned with me being loyal to him. But Miguel…Miguel is just…." I give up. I can't explain it.

"I can't disagree he's amazing," Carla says, my head jerks up. But she's not gloating. "Yet, he's not my type."

I almost breathe 'Thank God', but I don't. I know it's wrong to feel relieved the Brazilian doesn't like Miguel, but the response is automatic.

Suddenly, there's a small sound where the men are seated, and Miguel and Rip are on their feet, glaring daggers at each other.

"How _dare_ you say that about her!" Rip roars.

"Don't you deny it," Miguel snarls, a smile on his face.

"But it's not true!" Rip's mad face contorts to one of pleading.

"Yeah, right," he smirks, arms over his chest, and looks at Carla. "Why don't you tell them? They've got your full attention."

As Rip looks from me to Carla to Miguel, I wonder what has happened. Genuine alarm makes me move forward to side by Rip.

"Rip?" I ask softly. "What's happened?"

He looks at me, a hurt look on his face as he scrutinizes my expression. I'm staring up at him with big, worried eyes, the feeling growing as every second passes into history.

"Go ahead, Rip," Miguel goads him gently. "Tell her."

"Tell me what?" I ask, glancing from him to Rip.

"Tell you," Rip says, his arms encircling my waist, "that I love you so much, that I can't seem to take my eyes off you…." His voice trails off as he kisses me, and the table hoots as partly drunk men watch.

But I push him away. "What's going on, Rip?" I ask sternly.

"Nothing is wrong," he says softly, warm green meeting worried brown. "Just some dare they asked me to do."

"Really?" I ask, my brows raised. "What does 'it's not true' mean?"

I'm glad I'm sober. Because I wouldn't have caught that line if I were influenced. He stiffens, and Miguel guffaws.

He turns away. "It's nothing," he says.

"Rip, what's going on?" I ask, voice catching.

I can feel myself crying now, because it's one thing not to trust me with other men. It's a whole other issue if he can trust me with secrets.

"Nothing," he says. "Please, just go and have fun; I don't want to spoil your evening."

My eyes are hurt, and I can't see they are. But as I scrabble for something to say something hits my mind: maybe he needs his personal space. After all, telling secrets takes some time. I nod, first slowly, then more prominent as I grasp the idea that he must want his space.

"Alright," I say, and move off. Carla takes my wrist for a moment, and I look at her, trying to swallow the shrinking lump in my throat. "What?"

She's searching my eyes, then lets go of my wrist. "Never mind," she says, and continues to drink.

I move away from her, coke forgotten, and slip outside to slip into the car. At least the keys are with me.

I stay there in the driver's seat, and run my hand over his pristine dashboard, his sleek black steering wheel, the leather on the door, the controls on the armrest. My 458 Italia, having a 4.5 liter V8 engine that can go up to 200 miles, a 7-speed dual-clutch transmission, and 570 horsepower. I've tuned its camber myself. The winglets in the front are in the height of its time. Its brakes are no longer of your usual steel or titanium, but of sharpshooter ceramics, and its suspension is double-wishbone, set with Ferrari's own traction control systems left in previous years of Formula One, now integrated into its sports and grand touring cars. It's quiet in the cabin, like my Dad's old Subaru SUV, but you can hear any imperfections in the engine or the beautiful and scary revving of it behind your head. From 0-100 kilometers is 3.4 seconds. The trunk is big enough for me to hide from Francesco, although I'm not sure if the key will work inside. His LED headlights work better than bulbs in the dark. He most certainly is a handsome car in his time.

With this car I don't have secrets locked away in my heart, like kisses with Rip in or out of him, or stories red in the AC, or nursing him and myself back to health. In a heartache or in a high, I've almost always shared it with this car.

I think of every little detail this car has, because I don't know what else to do. I'm too dismayed to go back and party. I don't want to confront Rip in front of everybody. My cousin will only give me a lecture on loyalty and space. I'm kind of mad at Carla for vying for my boyfriend. Francesco and the gang should be real drunk by now. Mia and Tia are surely singing again. Miguel is out of the question. All that's left is this car.

* * *

_Aaaand that is another chapter left at that. :)_


	11. Revelations

_**Chapter Eleven**_

_(Margo's POV)_

I take the key out of the barrel and get out, shoving the chain into my pocket. I enter Wheel Well once more because I don't have anything else to do, and Rip is going to need a ride back. I ask Guido for a glass of beer and plunk myself down in a chair beside Rip. I can tell everyone is startled, but I just stare at the foaming glass.

"What are you doing here?" Lewis asks.

"Nothing to do," I say flatly. "No one to talk to." I tip my head back as I drink. "May as well get drunk."

I tune everything else out, blocking everything but the tipsy feeling that's crawling in my head as I finish my first glass. I don't talk to anyone or even listen to anyone; all I want is that safe haven Rip gives me when we're in bed. And the only way to achieve that without him is the beer. And I'm almost incoherent as I finish my second glass.

It's a nightmare, really, for me right now because Rip can't share something with me when he usually does so. I'm startled by everything: Carla liking Rip, Rip starting to keep secrets I should probably know about. And now that love is on my mind I remember what Miguel said earlier today, about him loving me and whim being there for me when I need him, and that adds to the shock. All I can say is that I don't know what to do. I'm stuck.

First of all, I respect Carla because she's friendly and all that. But for her to like my boyfriend is a little disconcerting. I mean, she should be more interested in the Latino right in front of me, but she's not. I wince a little at the title. I've never been comfortable with that word since I found one of my classmates say that provocatively. I shudder.

Secondly, Miguel is too assuming that I love him. He's just…he's just a friend. I mean, I have Rip, right? And Rip's all about the loyalty. Right now, Miguel doesn't matter, and I all I have right now is the man beside me.

And thirdly, well, Rip is pretty much mind-boggling right now. I mean, he talks of loyalty like it's the best thing ever and that I should stick to it, but what about him? He leaves me alone then comes back and I don't know what he's done all day long. I assume it's just exchanging strategies, working on their engines or playing. But when he comes back to love me, he suddenly asks what I've done today with some stupidly suspicious voice. I answer truthfully, then goes from loving to frustrated in seconds. Isn't that unfair for me because he expects himself not to be held back when I don't want to be either, and he holds _me_ back from society?

I'm still burning from the alcohol and the frustration when I ask for a fourth glass. As I do, Rip notices.

"Margo, that's enough for tonight," he says, pushing the glass away.

"What?" I say defiantly. "No! How many have you had, anyway?" I reach for my glass, but he just slaps my hand, and it retreats to my other.

"Love, you're drunk."

He's never specified me as 'love', 'my love', 'beloved', 'sweetheart', or any of those other pet names lovers give each other. And yes, it adds to the shock of everything, but I don't care. I want my drink.

"I don't give a fucking damn." I try again, standing this time, and he just pulls me down onto the seat.

In a small part of my mind I notice everyone's just watching.

"What was that for?"

"You've had enough for the night."

"No," I growl. "I'm not incoherent yet."

"But your mind is fogged."

Somewhere along that line I sober up enough for a moment to think it out. "Oh, yeah? I'm not the one thinking twice about whether to tell my love something that's bothering me! And that's what's bugging me," I add.

I can see he's furious with me. I just needed to see it.

"At least I don't blame my love for things I can't handle."

I think to that, pausing in my swaying movements that have seemed to dominate my limbs, and I know my critical thinking mis coming back and my haven leaving.

"You better think again, beloved," I laugh. "You can't handle my spirit or drive to be with other people," I clarify.

He understands.

"At least I'm loyal."

"I wouldn't call leading Carla to the dance floor loyal," I shoot back, glaring up at him, my arms and elbows on the table.

My brain is firing on all cylinders, and I can tell he's speechless as he turns away. And they think I'm partly tipsy, so I better act the part.

"I forgot to mention talking to someone else, as in another bachelorette," I say freely, reaching for my glass of beer again.

"Who?" someone asks.

"Carla Veloso." It's only a speculation, but it throws him off completely. He's up on his feet, fists on his sides rigidly.

I'm just sipping slightly. I don't want to miss this for anything.

"But I _have_ been talking to Miguel, so what's the use arguing with that?" I muse, shrug, and continue sipping. At least his secret is out, but I wonder how much he likes her.

He sits down, frustrated. I lean against him, grateful for his body because my mind is starting to get confused and blacking out from thinking, but he moves away. I'm leaning so hard on him I fall over, and my head hits the edge of his chair. I give a loud 'oww' and I hear people scrambling to their feet. I try straightening myself, assessing quickly what damage I've caused myself. My head hurts. My elbow has hit the tiled floor hard. My left leg is up on the chair and my right one is down on the floor, so I can't really sit up immediately. I touch my fingers to the wound just above my right brow, and wince, glancing at my fingers. The force of my fall and the edge of the chair has split the skin open.

Immediately, Miguel is beside me, and picks out my handkerchief so he can wipe the trickling blood and press it to the wound to stop the flow of blood. He's murmuring a lot of things in Spanish, from curses to soothing words. After a moment he shoves the hanky in my hand, instructs me to hold it to my face, and helps me up to sit beside him. I lean heavily against him though, because I am dizzy from the fall, and yes, maybe even from his gesture. He does the talking for me for a while.

"What was that for?"

"She's incoherent. It's just to snap her out of it."

"But to draw blood…." Miguel's voice trails away.

"Well, you did a pretty damn good job of it," I say clearly, and Miguel just shushes me.

"That wasn't very nice, Rip," Max says for the first time, and everyone else agrees.

"And if she were incoherent, would use say that?" Raoul adds.

"Hi guys," Carla greets from behind Rip. In her hand is a coke. "Whoa. What happened?"

"Hit by a chair," I say flatly, dabbing the cloth to the cold glass and pressing it back to my head again.

"When will you learn to follow?" Miguel chides.

"When you claim power over me," I reply. "Right now, you don't."

"He's your only chance right now, Margo." I look towards Jeff and he's staring at me. "Looks like Rip doesn't want anything to do with you."

Carla settles in my former seat, interest piqued.

"Got no one else to talk to?" I ask her before the situation gets any worse. It's only about two hours into the party. She shrugs.

And then, I'm thirsty. Miguel is too concerned the beer might bring back my tipsiness, and walks off to get me something. And when there are no eyes on them—or at least, that's what she thinks—she moves closer to Rip, _much, much closer_, until their arms are touching. That's when Miguel returns with a Pepsi.

As I sip, Carla moves closer. I lift the rim from me lips, eyes lowered to my drink, as she prepares to move another inch.

She's got no right to do that! She's got no fucking right, that stupid excuse for a bitch, to even try getting at my boyfriend! Rage rises in my chest, and it's veiled in my voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I say aloud, my eyes flashing with pure hatred at her.

No matter what everyone else says or what he says or what she says, I will love Rip, and I'm not going down without a fight.

Everyone is looking at me and them now, watching. I sip a little more.

"What are you talking about?" she asks, a little flustered at being caught.

"I can see you inching towards my boyfriend," I reply. "Don't' you deny it."

Her eyes are filled with defiance. "I son't," she says. "At least I'm in a better shape that you are."

That sends my brain on seventh gear. "What are you implying?"

"He probably likes me more than you do," she clarifies.

That's when I know she's seen Rip move and me fall. I stand, hands slamming onto the table, my wound forgotten. "Rip Clutchgoneski is _my boyfriend,_" I snarl at her.

"Oh yeah? If he does love you, then what are you doing standing beside Miguel Camino?" she shoots back.

A deep rumble starts in my throat, and my lips curl over my teeth in a feral-like snarl.

"Sit, Margo," Miguel says, standing, hand on my arm. "Calm down."

I look to Rip, who sets down his drink. He stares at me evenly, and suddenly I don't know the man I love anymore.

He isn't denying _anything._

My heart aches as a pang of hurt slices through my chest. I feel I'm choking as I stare at the man I've trusted my heart with, the man I love, the man who's always looked out for me.

I swallow and nod. I understand. This is a fight I can't win.

This is the peak of everything now. It's not the RSGP; it's this.

The first three days I was here Rip would leave me alone the whole day. This is where he has gone. When the agreement to stay by each other is there, he's not starting conversations; I am, and he just stares into space. When we're called by other racers, Carla is almost always there, making comments and he laughs. I don't notice because I'm busy helping the rest of them, and besides, I'm giving Rip the freedom I want(I'm _that_ soft). This is why he danced. All because of Carla.

But why declare his love for me in the first place? Does he truly love me? Did he, at least?

The world spins, and I walk away. Miguel follows, but I just push him back. I bring my 458 to life and drive.

I head away from Wheel Well, but I don't go to Radiator Springs. I don't have a place in mind. but I go to the detour Miguel and I took about three days ago. I take the key and lean on the rink of my 458, staring up at the near-harvest moon, its white light illuminating my surroundings.

Cue me breaking down.


	12. Confrontation

_**Chapter Twelve**_

_(Miguel's POV)_

Margo falls to the floor with a bodily thud, and an audible 'oww' emerges from her lips. I'm instantly to my feet, rushing to her aid.

Rip hasn't any right to do that to her! She was just talking, but he sends 'his love' falling and bleeding. That's not love I see, but hatred or rage, or something around that line. I see to the girl in beautiful cream and brown, and help her up to sit beside me. I can't help cursing in my language slightly, but as agitation flickers in her gaze, my words turn from something mad to something gentle. I press her against me, and she doesn't fight back, even if her boyfriend is there.

I go and get her a drink as per her request, just right after Carla appears, and when I come back, she's staring into space. She takes the drink and sips. I think that she's trying to stay put for the moment, but I'm wrong.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she says aloud, and glares up at Carla, who's startled.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can see you inching towards my boyfriend," the younger girl says flatly. "Don't you deny it."

Now that she brought it up, I notice Carla is _dangerously_ close to Rip.

"I won't," the Brazilian replies. "At least I'm in a better shape than you are."

"What are you implying?" Margo says immediately.

"He probably likes me more than you do."

I understand as soon as she finishes. Rip had moved away when Margo sat close. But now that Carla is at the same distance as Margo was earlier, Rip has done absolutely nothing to push her away. Fury rises in me as the man she wanted is not moving or protesting, but I fight to keep it down and instead, hide it behind a façade of interest.

She stands, hands slamming onto the table, making the glasses and drinks bounce. "Rip Clutchgoneski is _my boyfriend_, " she growls. I almost wince because I'm just there when she announces it.

But what's the use? Everything is coming out tonight. This one spat is the omen none of us are shying away from.

"Oh yeah? If he does love you, then what are you standing beside Miguel Camino for?" Carla shoots back.

I can hear and see her snarling, a feral growl in her throat, lips curling back over her teeth like an aggressive wolf. If she were a wolf, she would look marvelous in brown.

I stand to try calming her down. My eyes are stern as I look at her, not only because her cut is bleeding, but also because this could start a fight. And I wouldn't wish it on her right now because one, she's tipsy, and two, she's hurt.

She doesn't look to me, but stares at her boyfriend instead. He sets his glass down and stares back, unblinking. Her features are softening, straightening herself, and she lowers her head, nodding slightly. She then moves away, and I follow, but she just pushes against my chest as she hobbles towards the exit. This time, I don't insist.

I turn on my former best friend, letting my rage be unleashed. "Why didn't you stop Carla or say something?"

He shrugs and continues to drink.

But the gesture only sends me shooting, and my voice is raised above the party. "Don't you know how much she cares for you?"

The music stops, and I know I have crashed the party. But I will _not_ let this pass.

"She has been loyal to you every single day we've been here. And you, you just shrug her off. You talk about loyalty so much to her, but you don't practice it. As soon as her back is turned, you go off with Carla Veloso." Everyone is staring at us now. "When you were gone and I was there, she talked about you so much it made me sick, relating every little detail in a conversation to days with you and her. If she wasn't worried about her 458, she was worried about you. If she isn't, she's working again on her 458."

"Why are you so involved all of a sudden?" Rip shoots back angrily, on his feet now. "Why do you care so much about her and me?"

"Because you both are my friends, and friends look out for each other!" He's dumbfounded by the way he's relaxing. My voice softens, but I'm still angry. "Especially lovers."

I continue for him. "On the first morning I arrived in Radiator Springs, you both were all lovey-dovey, even if she did recite some facts about me, or Carla, or Max. You even declared your love for her in front of me." I'm shaking as sadness fills the blanks. "Where is that man, Rip? Where is my friend, and where is her lover?"

"Don't you do that to him, Miguel!" Carla shrieks, because I've clearly hit his conscience. "Don't you dare give him a guilt trip!"

"Why? Because you love him, Carla? Is that it?" My voice hardens once more. "You've got no choice, Veloso! You have to back down to the younger girl!"

"No!" she says. "I won't!"

I give up trying to reason with the Brazilian, and look at Rip, whose eyes are reflecting sadness. But the truth is out now. There's no backing down, and the damage is done.

"You've got to choose, Rip. If you do choose, good luck breaking her heart." I walk away, frustrated, and get in my car.

I kill the lights and head for Radiator Springs. I park in the garage, but the stunning silver 458 isn't there. I check her room. No answer. I ask the rest of the residents. They haven't heard the familiar roaring of her engine since six in the evening. I don't dare go back to Wheel Well.

When the rest of them are returning from the party, I ask the rest of the gang if she's there. They haven't seen her, either, and this sends everyone into a panic. Maybe except Rip and Carla, but I don't see them or even give a fuck right now.

We look for her everywhere in town, but we don't notify authorities yet. We believe she could just be hiding somewhere, alone and frustrated. Sally and Marlene tell us all to give up and leave her alone; she's not going to show up until her heart has been resolved.

I go to bed restless. I don't sleep. My mind is too geared up to shut down.

As I wake at around dawn, I meet Rip in the lobby, and pointedly turn my head as I leave. When I see Carla in the garage with her blue BMW Z4 E89 with its hood up, but she doesn't know how to tinker with an engine. I laugh inwardly. Margo could easily play with that thing.

I head over to Flo's after checking in with my Maserati, and get myself a cup of coffee.

That's when I hear the familiar roaring of a 458.


	13. Heart Broken

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

_(Margo's POV)_

I don't know how long I've been out, but I know no one has found me by the looks of it. Because it's dawn, and the pinking sky is an indication.

I sneeze as I wake, and pull out my handkerchief. It's so cold I may be frozen.

But I'm not. I stretch, and I realize I've been sleeping in the open trunk of the car, my legs out to prevent the door from locking me in. I scramble to my feet and assess the damage.

My wound has clotted. My eyes are puffy. I'm sniffling like crazy. My limbs hurt and I realize I seriously need to lie down.

But I don't. I have to drive to get to a bed. I get in the driver's seat and start backing away when I hear a voice from outside. I look out my window to see a middle-aged woman in, like, her early fifties, I guess.

"What do you want?" I ask her, not in the mood for anything, really.

"I need a ride," she says.

"Hop in, then."

She's startled. "Seriously?"

I shrug. "Where are you headed, anyway?"

"Erm…Radiator Springs."

I open the passenger door. "What happened to your car?"

"Took a ride. Never waited for me," she says as she retches into the trees.

I reverse and head away as soon as she's clean and in the car.

It's only when I'm past Tailfin Pass that I realize I can't face Rip or anyone else yet. But I have to get home.

I try driving slowly so I won't have to wake anyone else up, and head into the garage. I cut the engine, and the gang is at the entrance to the garage. I search each one of their faces. Some are sad, some are surprised. My cousin's is relieved, and she races to hug me. I don't really react, but I give her a small smile and she backs away.

It's when Miguel embraces me that I break down. His hold on me is warm and comforting, soothing even, and my face is on his thick shoulder. My hands are gripping the sides of his sweater, and suddenly, I'm not breathing as I fight back wails of sadness, breathing only when I need air. Tears are streaming down my face and soaking his pullover. My teeth are gritted as the lump in my throat induces pain and sorrow. Only my sniffling betrays my crying.

In the background I can hear more sniffling, and minimal scuffles. Miguel is murmuring soothing words in my ear, and it feels like a lullaby, and the love he's showing only hurts me so much more, because I don't deserve it.

I've been so wrong. So wrong to love. So wrong to trust. So wrong to let myself get lost in a trance of wonder and emotion. So wrong to be lost in the arms of the wrong man. I don't know if I can trust myself enough again to be with someone else, especially Miguel.

I don't know when I stop crying, much less how long I've been crying. All I want is to be free from this mess, to die, to live in a safe haven where I can be safe. Death looks a whole lot better now when faced with this heartache.

His head pulls back to kiss my left ear, his breath warming it softly. My head turns so I acknowledge him, my gaze settling on his neck. I pull back fully because my neck hurts, and I just want to bend my head so I can stare at the ring of hearts and paws that's on my left middle finger, my hands on his chest.

"_¿Estarán bien?_" he murmurs softly.

I nod slightly, unable to speak.

His lips meet my hair as he pulls me close. I shut my eyes painfully, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

"I want to go home," I choke.

I always say that when I was a young girl: _I want to go home_. Even if I am at home. But I don't just mean that I want to go to my room or literally go to a designated residence, no. What I mean is that I want to go to sleep, because it's the only place I can be safe, and the greatest definition of going home is to go where you'll be safe. And the darkness of sleep is the only place where I'll really feel at home right now.

"You will be," he says gently.

I take heart in that.

"Margo," a voice says, and I turn my head to see Rip, who's right there, a few feet beside us. "Can I talk to you?"

Miguel looks at me, and I nod. He releases his hold, reluctant, but I move to Rip's front, head bowed. Surely, this is where I'll get it.

His arms are then around me, but I push him away. I don't feel that love I have for him anymore. Instead I feel betrayed. I feel like I've been duped. I look at him, and there's sadness in his eyes. I shake my head.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I can't."

"Margo," he murmurs. "Please."

I still shake my head. "All I wanted was to be treated like I was loved," I murmur. "That's all I ever wanted." My voice is catching, but I continue anyway. "You know that…don't you?" When he nods, I do so, too. "When I learned you liked Carla more than friendship can allow…I knew you couldn't possibly have loved me that way in reality."

He's silent. I grit my teeth at this as I bite back my cries. I shake my head one last time, and head away for my room, falling onto the bed, the hurt coming back worse than before.

I never wanted things to be this way. I never wanted heartache in my life. But that's just life, isn't it, that there are bumps in the road sometimes?

All the while I just lie there, crying, as the pillows smell like his hair, as I remember every kiss we shared, every loving word he's said to me. 'I love you' in front of the racers in the first day. Waking up with my head on his shoulder, his arm around my back. Kissing beside and inside my 458. Asking him which color goes best with my chosen shirt. Weaving my fingers through his wet hair, pressing close to his warm, bare chest. His hands searching my back for the perfect touch. His lips on my neck. Listening to his heartbeat. Things like those.

I find in my bag some sleeping pills that I got from some drugstore on the way here because I couldn't sleep a night in another room. I slip one into my mouth, and I don't care if it's tap water, but I drink anyway. I lie down again on my bed, waiting for sleep to come over.


	14. Taking the Shots

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

_(Miguel's POV)_

She walks away, head bowed. I look around and see Marlene in Francesco's arms, and her gasps could only mean she's crying for her beloved cousin. The rest of them are stifling sniffles. Carla knew to back away, but as Margo leaves, she sides by Rip, and takes his arm, looking up at him sadly. I gaze towards the direction Margo has gone, and feel sadness in my throat, too.

She has suffered the worst of this, I guess.

Nobody disturbs me, her, or Rip and Carla. All I do is stare blindly into space, a mug of cooled coffee in my hands. the town is silent exempt for the usual greetings of customers and all that is required for the public not to notice. But in everyone's hearts, they know that sorrow permeates the air of the town.

After a few hours of down time, impatience crawls in my belly, and I go to her room.

Most of the stuff has been cleared, which I think is Rip's, as that he has moved out, I guess. I close the door quietly, and sit down beside her.

She's sleeping quietly, the rise and fall of her flank regular. She's peaceful like this, and I like it. I don't want to disturb her, but she's been sleeping all morning.

My hands stroke her hair, and her band pulls out, her wavy hair loosening. She barely stirs. My fingers slide through her hair, and she smiles softly, turning over to face me.

She looks exquisite, looking just like that: peaceful and happy. Serene, even. But I longed to see her eyes again, just as happy as she looks right now, to hear her voice, a song I'll never be able to sing. I hadn't realized I'm blushing.

My palm rests lightly on her cheek, and she jerks awake. She looks up at me, and I smile at her. My wish is granted, or at least a part of it. She blinks, but I don't know if it's in confusion or something else. She tries sitting up beside me, her fingers coming through her hair. I give her the black band, and she makes no effort to tie it back up again. She just sits there, breathing.

I don't know what to do, because I don't' want to cause her to go crying again or something, so I just sit there, looking away.

"I'm not looking for anyone at the moment, Miguel," she breaks the silence. I look at her, and she's staring at the carpet.

"I told you, I'll always be here for you," I reply. I don't care if she's pushing me away. I love her.

She just shakes her head. "I think I'll just be on my own for a while."

Alarm makes me tense, and I have to ask. "How long?"

She shrugs. "As long as it takes."

My heart plummets, but I don't show it. "Alright." I stand and turn to leave.

I go to Flo's as usual, order a coffee. The routine is getting kinda old, but I do it because it's out of habit. I drink outside, the coffee made to go, and survey the town. It's around ten minutes after I get my coffee that a woman shrieks somewhere.

I drop my coffee, and race towards the lobby of the Cozy Cone. That's when I realize the woman we saw earlier today is holding a gun. Everyone else is about ten feet away.

"Get back!" she snarls, and backs away herself, Carla at her mercy.

"Carla," Rip calls and steps forward, but he only stops as the gun is pointed to him.

"So, Carla, who do you want to get licked first, huh?" the woman asks, and the Brazilian racer looks helplessly at me. The woman notices, and eyes me, too. "That one? Really?"

I step forward. "What do you want?"

"This sick excuse for a bitch was my friend," she said. "We used to party together, do a lot of things together. But when she got hooked up, oh, she wouldn't share!"

The woman looks feral and deranged, but dangerous all the same with that gun.

"So, which one, honey?" she asks sweetly.

Driven by the need to release her, Rip steps forward. The gun is cocked at him. I try diverting her attention so Rip can get to her. As the gun cocks to me, I look at Rip, and nod. He takes another step, and she's clearly confused. But when Rip finally pushes through with a run, and I call for him to stop.

But someone is running towards us as he does, and the gun shoots. The running person can only be Margo, her hair still untied and billowing out behind her, and she jumps just as the gun cracks. She blows backward onto Rip, and I can't believe it.

_She took the shot._

I'm running, and tear the gun and Carla away from the woman forcefully. I knock her out with a punch to the head, and see to Margo before anything else. She's in Rip's arms.

"Why?" he asks, crying. "Why did you do it?"

She's only staring up at him, half-smiling, her fingers tracing from his temple to his jaw. "Because I love you," she whispers.

It's only thirty seconds from the shot, but time is running out. I can't consider the possibility, but she's _dying._


	15. Taking the Shots 2

_This is just filler; I prefer the whole thing in Miguel's POV._

* * *

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

_(Margo's POV)_

I hear a woman scream, and look out immediately. The gang is there, at least ten feet from the woman with a gun and Carla right behind her, wrist gripped by the woman's hand. I'm about fifteen feet from the lobby, so I can't really hear. But as I see the gun shifting from Miguel to RipI panic. What do I do?

As Rip starts running for Carla I charge my way through, and I'm faster than Rip in terms of speed, so I should get there in time. I hear the gunshot. A searing pain I feel is in my abdomen's left side. I fall to the ground, the air whooshing form my lungs.

I hear sounds of combat, but Rip rolls me onto his lap gently, and I see his gaze filled with tears.

"Why?" he whispers urgently. "Why did you do it?"

My fingers rise to trace his temple down to his jaw, just as I did a few days ago back in our room. Only four words strung together can be said. "Because I love you."


	16. Te Amo

_Alright you wondering fans, there it is, although I will try finishing it tomorrow. ^-^_

_Have you figured out all the details by the way? xD_

* * *

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

_(Miguel's POV)_

"We have to get her in the car, now!" I shout at Rip, but he doesn't listen. Margo is out of the question.

"How can we?" he says, looking up at me with such sorrow it throws me off-balance. "She's _dying_, Miguel! And I can't save her!"

"Yes, you can," I say. "You can."

He just looks at me hopelessly, as his hand cups her cheek, smiling as they gaze into each other's eyes. As her hand cups his cheek he turns his head to kiss her palm softly. I want to watch, but we don't have time.

I strip my sweater and fold it, pressing it to her stomach. I've been taught something like that in my school, so it will halt the flow of blood. I then take into account which car we have is the fastest. Her best chance is her 458.

I search her pockets, my other hand on the sweater, since they're both not paying any attention to me anyway, and I nudge my friend. "Rip, we have to carry her to her 458," I say urgently. "It's that or she dies painfully."

He looks at me, and I know he wouldn't wish that on her for anything. He nods, and with one last glance and murmur of words at her, he lets me pick her up, since I'm the only one of us standing. He takes the keys. She's about over a hundred-twenty pounds, but I can carry things heavier than that. I walk as quickly as I can, and as he sits in the passenger's I set her down on his lap. I get into the driver's seat, and kick the engine to life. Hurriedly I step on the gas, and we're gone in a few seconds.

Good thing it's still about nine in the morning. Low traffic.

I step on the gas, and we hare down the Interstate, and I keep in mind the speed limit. We head for the nearest city, which we're sure there should be a hospital, and get her to the ER.

All I hope for is that she'll be alright.

Rip and I stay for the day. We phone Sally at the Cozy Cone, and tell them where we are. They visit and try comforting us. Nobody can convince me she's not going to live. The nearest town was only, like, five minutes away. But Carla is having a hard time getting through to Rip, because he's personally beating himself up over things that happened.

Minutes turn to hours turn to a half-day. It's only then when we hear news of Margo.

"Well," the doctor says, taking off his glasses. Everyone stands and crowds around him. "She's going to be alright," he says, and everyone sighs in relief. I can see Marlene hugging Francesco as news of her cousin reached her ears. "Although she may be kept in here for a few more days, really."

"Where did it hit, doctor?" I ask.

He feels for a spot just under his ribcage, right in the middle. "The bullet missed any vital organs completely, and her clothing was most probably thick enough to slow it down. Just a few centimeters more and it would have probably hit her spine." I sigh in relief. She'll be alright.

"She's woken up from the anesthesia right now; that's why we waited a few hours until we could talk to you," he adds. "Would any of you like to see her?"

"I would," Rip says immediately.

"Same here," I say.

He nods, and Marlene is also invited because she's the prime family member in the group. The three of us, along with Francesco, goes to the room where she's located.

As we enter, there's tubes and monitors and she's in a patient's gown. I see her head moving restlessly as she watches her nurse check her monitors. As her gaze hits us, she smiles, and her cousin rushes to her.

"Cousin," Marlene cries softly.

"Hush, Marlene," she says, her left hand rising to pet her cousin's head slightly. "I'm alright."

The two cousins' gazes meet, and Marlene kisses her hand. She backs away to make room for the rest of us.

Rip allows me to go first, and I step forward. She grins at me, and I grin back.

"Still reckless, I see," I say.

"Sorry," she replies, gripping my hand tightly, eyes shining with her usual humor. "I can't help who I am."

I smile, and bend down to kiss her forehead slightly. She closes her eyes and breathes, 'thank you', lips unmoving. I stare into her eyes, and blink happily. I release her hand, and move away.

Rip moves forward, and takes her hand. She smiles into his eyes, and he only swallows, brows furrowed as the back of his hand brushes the side of her face softly.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

He only nods. "I'm sorry, too." It's her turn to nod. "Is there any chance we can…?"

She looks away, shaking her head. "I love you, Rip, but it's not the same anymore," she says. "Please understand." He gazes away. "I just can't." She brings his hand to her lips though, and kisses it softly. "But remember that I love you, even if it is less, now that you have Carla."

His gaze flicks back to her, and she smiles sadly, nodding slightly. She has conceded defeat, and knows Rip loves Carla, maybe even more than her. She's accepted that possibility.

All of us are touched by her quiet courage and words, and I can see Rip seriously crying now, tears falling from his eyes. She beckons him closer, and when he bends down, ear to her lips, she turns his head with his chin, and they share one last kiss.

I can see her lips move and open as he gains entrance past her teeth, and it's about ten seconds before they part. All the while he's touched and crying, and pulls away to sit beside me so Francesco can say his own words.

I pat my friend's back gently. "You're going to be fine," I murmur, but he just cries quietly there.

When Francesco is done, we all stand to leave, but Margo makes a sound.

"Miguel," she calls. One word raises everyone's interest. "Stay."

I look to Marlene, Francesco and Rip. Marlene and Francesco nod almost immediately. As I look to my friend, who I think still considers her as his girlfriend, but nods slowly, then pats my upper arm.

"Go get 'er," he says, smiling.

I grin and give him a mock-slap as they leave. The door closes, and then it's just me and her. I move to her side, and I take her left hand in mine, examining her ring from a moment.

"So, why am I here?" I ask her, and she laughs slightly.

"Do you remember what you said yesterday?" she asks back, and I'm confused. I've said a lot of things yesterday. "In the garage?"

I breathe a laugh. "Yeah, I remember that," I say. How could I forget?

She stares away from my gaze, then back again as she speaks. "Well, I'd just like to let you know something, too."

I smile. "And what is that?"

She beckons me just like she did Rip, also turning my head so she can gaze into my eyes. "_Te amo, Miguel Camino,"_ she whispers, and presses her soft, sweet lips against mine.

* * *

_Do note this is NOT over! There's the RSGP to look forward too, remember? 8D_


	17. Another Day

_My final version of TCUASP CH17! *rejoices bluntly* __I'm so messed up right now, because I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing for the race. :/ xD_

* * *

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

_(Margo's POV)_

I wake to a blissful Thursday morning, and stretch slightly. I don't want to agitate my belly. I sit up, scratching my eye. I glance at the clock. Eight AM. I'm a little early, but I don't want to risk getting up three, four hours later.

I give myself a warm shower before slipping in an all-black outfit, except maybe the rubber on my canvas shoes, because they're white. I do my usual routine before I leave the room, keys, hanky, wallet and watch in my pockets. As I walk out, I grab the brand-new golden, red and black jacket—well, at least, brand-new to me.

I hare down the hall and stairs, and head into Flo's at around eight-twenty, slipping on the jacket on the way. It's still as cold as hell out there, but I know it'll get hotter as midday comes around. I grin as my friends are gathered in the same corner booth, even if they aren't complete. They greet me as I dash to them.

"'Morning guys," I say, hugging my cousin on one end then go to settle down on the other, right beside Jeff. People greet me a good morning as I settle.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask as I order a mug of coffee.

"Final repairs and improvements today," Lightning says, and I nod as I sip the warm beverage.

"I wanna go shopping," Marlene frets, "with my cousin."

I almost choke on my coffee. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me," she says.

"But why me?" I'm near hysteria. My cousin is always serious if she wants me to go with her for things. "I have plans today!"

"Yeah? Plans with what?"

Thinking fast has always been my specialty. "The guys will need me today!" She eyes me scoffingly. "Final tweaking of engines, remember?"

She rolls her eyes, waving me away. "Fine," she says, "but when you're done, we go to Phoenix."

I shrug, and a latecomer arrives. "Am I late?" he says breathlessly, and sits by me, kissing my hair.

"Not really," Rip says on the other side. It's only then when I notice his arm is around Carla's shoulders. I don't really mind, but at least things have settled between us. Rip then recounts what conversation has happened, even those I have missed.

"So, going from green to gold, eh?" Mia says. I realize it's the twins' day off. Privately, I wonder why, then note she's eyeing my 'new' jacket.

I glance down at it. "Yeah, well," my voice trails off, and I shrug happily. "Considering the circumstances," I add subtly.

Someone nudges me from my right, and I glance upward from my cup so I meet deep green. I can't help giggling shyly, dropping my cup to reveal my flushed cheeks. Tia teasingly points it out and I cover my face, laughing quietly, as the rest of the gang laughs. I grab my mug again and settle on the backrest, my head on Miguel's shoulder. Nobody minds as he pulls me closer to his side, well away from Jeff on my other side, and presses his lips to my hair once more.

That morning all the way to the early afternoon, my hands and wrists are covered in grease once more as I work with the racers and their cars. At that moment, I'm supposed to be unbiased, so not only do I remove my jacket, but I have to be in the right mind to work. But it's just so hard to be so with Miguel always grabbing my attention whenever anyone's back is turned, and my brain ends up more tangled than having a multitude of problems with an engine or even fuzzier than dozing off in the middle of class. And when I'm done, I still have to go with Marlene, Mia, Tia, Sally and Carla to shop, and of course, the four men involved with the four of us cannot stay home and wait for us, so Francesco, Lightning, Rip and Miguel come with us. Although I certainly dislike shopping for clothes only because it's a waste of money, time and effort, it was nice to give in to the feeling of having something new to wear. And in this case, it's my new golden dress: spaghetti-strap and flowing, great for warm days to wear on. I seriously can't imagine myself in it anymore, but everyone had been excited when I reappeared from the changing room.

At this day's sunset I've settled on the hood of my silver 458, mug of coffee on hand. I can't wear my dress because it's still fresh out of the store, and I don't think the cleaners are still open. I'm on that cliff again, the detour we took last week. I didn't wait for Miguel tonight because he's still out there, socializing with the rest of them. I still brought two thermoses of coffee at any rate, along with two cups.

This has been considered a private spot for the both of us, because either no one has caught us or no one dare thought of driving off the road. But still, it's nice to appreciate the peace, away from revving engines, grease and exhaust.

My thoughts were right: he did catch on, because I permit myself a smile as I hear his Maserati pulling up beside me an my 458. I hear the door close, and I quickly finish my cup to set it down on the mat I put over the hood, right before he pulls me in for a kiss.

"You never said you would be here," he murmurs when he's done, his lips lingering on mine.

"You never asked," I shot back, pressing against him for a second more. "And you were occupied when I thought of it."

"At least I caught on," he says, and I just give a small moan of reply as our skin touches again.

His hands are all over my sides, my back, and his kisses are tense and urgent, as if he's holding himself back from something more. Me, on the other hand, I'm just letting things flow, letting him lead. I for one don't have the strength to hold on to reality anymore, now that my mind has been blurred enough for insensibility.

Spent air drives us apart, and all I can do is to press my face against his black shirt under the open zipper of his signature jacket. He settles on the hood of my 458, bringing me down with him. Continuously I open the zipper, and as its ends come off, I freely explore his front. His fingers are in my hair as I kiss his neck, my hand drifting down to his chest. I can hear his breathing, quick and shallow, and I straddle his thighs, arms around his neck now, my lips to his. He's startled, and grasps the back of my jacket as feverish kisses ensue.

"So, what's the plan?" he asks softly, sipping his coffee.

"We practice tomorrow," I reply as I look around, taking in the view of the war of light and dark as the sun started to disappear and the whispers of the wind blowing downwind, fluttering strands of my bangs and the lithe branches above us.

Though I may be unbiased today, tomorrow, Saturday and Sunday I will be on Miguel's team, no matter what my cousin says. I'm old enough to make a decision, and it's just fair for me to choose, just as fair as Francesco has Marlene for support. I've done my part for everyone else today; I've got no more business with the rest of the teams.

"Do we get back for dinner?" he asks.

"I don't know; there's no telling if we're half-full with the two thermoses I brought with me."

He grins. "I've wanted to sample Francesco's cooking though."

"Let's go then; I'm sure you'll love his cooking." With that, we pack up, and unfortunately, we have to go in our separate cars. No matter; we race through Tailfin Pass back to Radiator Springs.


	18. The Race That Seals The Future

_Yay, you replied! ^-^ Glad you're back on track, __**Pancake**__; I miss youuu~ ^o^ And yes, it's a VERY normal day for Margo. xD_

_Bet this'll have you guys hanging on. xD Btw, I have an alternate ending/epilogue; please message if you want to see or have me post. ^-^"_

* * *

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

_(Margo's POV)_

"Alright, love; that should do it," I say, satisfied. I examine my hands and arms, my jacket's sleeves rolled up, my skin greased with oil.

Right after I shut the hood he pulls me in for a quick yet passionate kiss, and I am left with a mildly fuzzy head as I wash myself of the black stains. When I'm clean, I slip on my headset and stand by the team in position.

Petro Cartalina, Miguel's crew chief, was initially against my going into the pit crew roster. I can only specialize in the engine though, but at any rate, as I clean up things in Miguel's engine more than their own engineer can, the time impresses Cartalina, and I'm in. And I'm pretty sure Miguel would have been furious with Cartalina if I didn't get in.

"Be careful," I said uselessly.

Nonetheless he grinned, kissing my hair. "I will," he reassures me.

So, I stand by the rest of the males, fueled by testosterone and the scent of exhaust, as the wearer of the number 5 and of gold, red and black races away to line up in the makeshift grid. As the colors on the traffic lights go from red to green, I can hear the loud screeching of tires and revving engines as they race away.

I then turn to the monitors with Cartalina, and he knows he can't tell me off because I'm a part of the team at any rate. Miguel does well, coming in fifth place, even if the dirt kind of slows everyone else down aside for maybe Raoul and Lightning. But in comparison to the speeds of the racers, Miguel should at least be in fourth place or so, although also in comparison to the horsepower combined, fifth place is better than anything. As the car rolls in for a pit stop, all I can do is stare into the windows as he lifts his helm to report anything different about the engine. Nothing has happened, thank goodness, and he winks at me right before he slips the protection over his head again, the dark tint hiding his eyes. I smile just as he looks forward, and races away.

There should be about thirty-five laps in this race alone, cut down from about fifty because of the length of the course Lightning chose for us. And things are looking pretty good for a touring car: twists and turns generally dominate the rest of the straights and the dirt.

Elation grips me as he moves up a place in the fifteenth lap, then another in the twentieth. He's really working hard as he climbs up the ladder, and has almost caught up to the leaders. I'm so proud. Right up till he comes back in an unexpected pit stop. He leaves the car, almost throwing off his helmet, and I hurry to the scene as I hear he requires some of my skills.

Something's gone wrong with his engine.

He's lucky he stopped here, because we would have ten minutes alone to have Mater tow him from the track, and that is not good. I flip open the hood as quickly as I can, and the heat hits me smack-dab in the face. I try resisting, and with gloved hands I check the engine over. Two spark plug have broke, probably from overuse, which explains the engine stalling for moments at a time. I dig through the spare parts in the back, and dash back, only to slip on an oil patch. I take a forward flip, and bash my nose on the pavement. It hurts like hell—I'm probably destined to have such misfortune—and blood gushes down my face, trickling to my mouth. I take the gore down into my mouth, and work continuously, despite the fusses of Cartalina, the crew, and more so from Miguel, or the pain in my nose, or the metallic taste in my mouth. In the background, I hear some of the crew scrambling to the back of the pits. But as I shut the hood and make him try the engine again, the medics arrive and he drives off as I shout at him to do so. I probably pierced his ears in the headset, because he just got in and sped away. The medics are then upon me, and fuss over my face. I'm sure Miguel is listening, because no one bothers to really lift the mic over my face or the headset off my head, and apply ice and gauze to my face, dragging me away to the back.

A medic instructs me to hold an ice pack to my face for a while. All I can do is sit on a stack of used tires, watching as the crew worked, setting up the garage and setting aside unnecessary items, changing tires and refueling the car. One of the crew constantly has to be by Miguel's side, because each time he goes to pit, he tries to get at me, frustrated, and all I can do is watch and comfort him through the headset.

The next one and a half hours feels like one and a half years as I wait. A medic checks up on me every fifteen minutes or so. Petro Cartalina gives me news through the headset when I ask. I try walking around because my back hurts bending over my knees. I watch through the television screens in the garage as a private crew televises it live through the screens.

He's still in third place, I realize. I'm not sure if Carla and Shu are deliberately letting him pass, but nonetheless, he's still in third place, having caught up to Lightning and Francesco. All he has to do now is battle it out. And instead of the pain in my face or the frustration in his every word as he hisses into the radio in his last pit stop for a splash-and-go at the thirty-second lap, all I feel now as he gets back on the asphalt is anticipation and excitement.

At long last, it's the second to the last lap, and everyone's trying their hardest, scrambling into the higher places. It's nothing personal when you go down a place; it's nothing personal too if I graze your paint a little. But Miguel, Lightning and Francesco hold on tight to their places. I'm literally on the edge of my seat as the crew jostles into position behind each other, crowding around the LCD TV with me and Petro Cartalina, to watch the final legs of the race.

There's the turn around Willy's Butte, then the round along Tailfin Pass past Wheel Well, then along the straight to the center of town. Francesco pours it on, then slows as the inevitable turn right approaches. He turns too tightly, and spins out of control, hitting the haystacks that protect the spectators. Lightning and Miguel almost crash into him in the tight space, if not for the 'slowing down at a turn' rule they might have crashed altogether, resulting in one of the worst accidents ever. The rest of the racers behind screech to a halt, and progress is slow as Mater tows Francesco's beloved F1 out of the track, forcing him to retire. I then notice as that means Miguel moves up a place, and everyone screams in a moment of triumph as I explain my sudden outburst.

But it's not over yet: there's still one last lap to go. We all hang on, biting our nails and keeping our eyes open for anything as Miguel and Lightning are side by side, hard-pressed for time and for first place. There may not be a trophy, but there's still the glory of winning over a prestigious stock car racer that's much, much stronger than our team. Everyone reaches the last leg of the track then, and we're all on the edge as we watch, the rest of the racers forgotten.

My hand has dropped from my face. Petro Cartalina, the crew and I are leaning towards the TV screen, expectation and excitement rushing through our veins as we watch Miguel and Lightning inch back and forth from each other's bumpers as they race side by side. The television screen splits between two cameras located on the two cars battling for first place, and we see their progress. We're not sure who'll win at that moment, and I'm on the verge of screaming to the top of my lungs in frustration as time slows, the meters to the finish line lessening as if they were minutes apart.

Everyone's on their toes as we see an aerial view of the finish line, and inevitably, its' a photo finish! The team is disappointed when we know it's a tie, and I slouch back onto the stake of tires as the cars approach the pits once more. Even if it is a photo finish, we're still waiting for the final verdict from Sheriff and the rest of those who have called a neutral side, like Flo and Ramone.

Miguel leaves the car to the approaching crew, makes it out of the crowd, and turns to wrap his arms around me. My nose is hardly bleeding anymore, but it hurts as he presses me against his front tightly. He whispers a lot of different words in Spanish between deep breaths, from apologies of my fall—in which I tell him it's not his fault—to expressing his frustration of being in a photo finish.

We are then called to the makeshift winner's circle. Petro Cartalina, Miguel and I are there a few minutes after the call. Rip and Carla arrive, side by side, without their crew chiefs. Maybe that's because it's only a contest between Miguel and Lightning; there shouldn't be any third or second place. But we're definitely sure Carla is in the three places, only because she was right behind the two leaders.

Sheriff and the rest of the 'officials' appear, and with solemn gazes they make the announcement.

The police officer looks at the map in red, holding his wife tightly, perhaps in hopes of taking the win. I don't think that what he's doing is bad, only because it's kind of like a habit, believing you won. After all, he's a racer; nothing personal in this kind of game.

"In the years I've seen you race, there's been nothing like this before," he starts, "unless you count the three-way tie," he adds, shrugging, and the rest of us laugh nervously. Sheriff glances at Miguel. "This is the first time I've seen you battle it out with a prestigious racer, and I've never seen that kind of driving for such an amateur, unless having five years of racing under your belt is amateuristic." Miguel grins at the praise. "At any rate, the winner is…."

I pray to God as he whispers to this colleagues, and grip Miguel's hand tighter, and he presses me against him, kissing my hair. Suddenly, I know what he means.

He didn't win.

Disappointment fills me then, and I just wrap my arms tighter around him comfortingly.

Sheriff looked at Lightning first. It was a sign. And I can't believe Sheriff would be so blunt about it.

I whisper my apologies that we didn't win, that we weren't good enough, that he wasn't in first place, that I fell and broke my nose, that I wasn't fast enough to replace his spark plugs. He just counters it with his own murmurs, and I can't stop the tears from trickling off my eyelashes. My injury was for nothing. Not that I wasn't happy for my cousin's friend, but I can't help feeling the disappointment, either.

I don't want to listen to the announcement, and I don't hear it in the cover of Miguel's arms over my ears. I wait for the cheers to erupt around us, but I don't understand the patting on Miguel's back. Suddenly, everyone's smiling at us, clapping, and a bottle of champagne is waiting for us there.

"Margo," Miguel calls at me, releasing me, "we won!"

I was disoriented for a moment as I listen to Sheriff's next words. "It was barely a quarter of a foot of clearance, but it was there alright, and anyone who doubts can see it in slow motion."

I glance from Sheriff, who's smiling at us, to Miguel, whose face is ecstatic. The disappointment is replaced by the elation, and I laugh, first tentatively, then louder with triumph as Miguel pulls me in for a victory kiss.

My feet are instantly off the ground, and we twirl in a circle as I hang on, tears of joy flowing freely now from my eyes. Miguel grabs the two bottles of champagne that Marlene offers, handing me one, and we pop open the shaken bottles, spraying each other with the shower of alcohol, as well as the rest of the audience and the racers. Some, like Mia and Tia, scramble away with squeals of glee, away from the shower. The rest of them either shield themselves with arms and other people as we take aim.

That night, another party is hosted, and this time, it's a victory party. I wear a red button-up, sleeves naturally rolled, a specially requested knit sweater vest of gold, red and black that arrived today, with black pants and docksides or boat shoes. Miguel goes in the same. Petro Cartalina can't help or stop talking about it; he hasn't wrapped his head around the win against _the_ Lightning McQueen.

Miguel makes a special speech, making proper acknowledgements, like for Lightning being a great opponent, apologies for Francesco's retirement from the race but still honoring him as a role model, and for me and his team being there for support. I don't mind, but I blush thickly as he pulls me in for another public kiss, the crowd howling. I was never one for public display of affection, to tell you the truth.

We enjoy the rest of that party, and I wonder how the hell will I get home with Marlene and Francesco, not to mention my work back at Maranello, with my new status as girlfriend. Not that I disliked long-distance relationships, but how will I cope with the loneliness back at the Bernoulli palace?

"Why don't we see how things go?" Marlene reassures me. "It was a while before I got to Italy."

I only nodded, nervous, as I packed up for tomorrow's departure. I was needed in Maranello in maybe less than three days.

"It'll be fine," he said smilingly into my eyes. "Petro specifically asked you to be a part of the team."

I grinned, ecstatic, at the strategy. I could be with work and Miguel at the same time. That was awesome. The next problem was resigning my position, but I would worry about that tomorrow. Tonight was ours, and ours alone as we celebrated with love.

* * *

"That's it, I guess," I say as I glance at the host in front of us.

I am seated on a white couch with Miguel's arm around my waist, his other arm slung over the backrest on his other side. Lights had momentarily blinded me as we stepped onto the 'stage', and the cheering of the audience was louder than the volume I preferred in my headset. The audience was a mix of male and female alike: the men were there because of Miguel and his legend, and the women were there because of Miguel and his good looks, and some were there for the gossip of the day. And that shattering you probably heard well before this interview was the breaking of many Spanish hearts.

"That most certainly was a roller-coaster ride for you, Miguel," the host tells the man beside me. "Where's the cameraman? Oh, there you are; Margo, think you can show me that ring on your left hand?"

"Oh, sure," I say, and flash my hand outward, fingers stretched out and spread. I see the cameraman zero in on the ring on my finger as the host gives info on it.

"It's a beautiful band of yellow gold with a single, round topaz gem, surrounded by alternating little gems of garnet and onyx." The audience and the host were captivated by the ring on my finger. Have I mentioned I retired the one with hearts and paws?

"What about yours, Miguel?" she asks, and the camera zooms to his.

His is more of a plain band of titanium covered in gold, really, than a decorative one like mine. I give her and the audience that detail, because to them, it's a plain band of gold. But no; we wanted titanium because it was very hardwearing, although we wanted to match in terms of color, so precisely we had it covered in a thin layer of gold.

"So, what do you plan to do now?"

"Well, retirement is further down the list," I say.

He nods. "And settling down is just a little higher than that."

The host's eyes bulge. "Really?"

I nod. "But at any rate, if we have to, then we have to." I shrug. We'd already talked about this. "Life goes on."

"Does it?" the host asks.

"M-hm," I say, and look up to the man that's captivated me for nearly three years. "Just as it did three years ago." He smiles and presses his lips to mine softly. "And if a baby girl is on the way, then a baby girl is on the way."


End file.
